Monologues for Women and Men | Complete Monologues | by Gabriel Davis

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What's the deal with this page?This page has the complete set of monologues written by me, Gabriel Davis. I post new work here every two weeks (roughly). All of my monologues are free for your use in audition, school and classroom performances, skits, etc. You'll find the majority of my monologues below are comedic monologues for women or men, although there are a few dramatic monologues as well. I try to keep all my monologues to typical audition length, so you can perform the short monologues in about 1 minute or less and the slightly longer monologues in about 2 minutes or less.

Un-Chatty CathyMonologues for young women and teens, comedic Un-Chatty Cathy, the short play, appears within the collection 3-Short: A Trio of Plays by Gabriel Davis. Available in print anddigital editions here.by Gabriel Davis

It’s the first time I’ve heard me talk too. I mean, the first time I’ve heard me talk to you. To you in particular. Did you even know my name was Cathy? That I sit behind you in homeroom? Really? I’ve never seen you look back. I’ve seen your back, but not you looking back.

Oh God. So I’m taking this public speaking class, and now here we are, in public, speaking. But I was hoping it’d be more private. Could you … excuse us, Patsy? Thanks.

In public speaking class, they say, tell a story, some anecdote that let’s your audience know who you are. When I was six, I was a proud bluebird of the Camp Fire Girls of America! As a bluebird, I had to sell mint thins door to door. When my older brother heard, he started laughing. He told my mom, “How is she supposed to sell them if she never makes a peep?”

I could feel my eyes getting a little wet, and I think my mother saw because she said, “They’re going to find her so adorable, she won’t have to make a peep! And you’re going to take her.”

My mother got me dressed in my official bluebird outfit - a little white button up short sleeve shirt, a knee length blue skirt, knee high white socks, white Mary Jane shoes, my hair in pigtails and my bluebird pin. She wrote out a little introduction on an index card, “Hello, my name is Cathy and I’m a bluebird. How would you like to purchase some mint thins to benefit the Campfire Girls of America?” And she included all the details they needed to order the cookies. “See, she’s armed with cuteness and the right words.” She smiled at me, patting my head, “Now fly, my little bluebird, nothing can stop you now!”

My older brother sighed and took me door to door. He’d wait at the end of each walkway, and I’d make the long walk myself to the front door. My legs would shake. When someone opened, usually a mom – I’d find myself unable to speak. But I had my words. I’d hold out the card and each strange mom at the door would read it, smile, and buy my mint thins. I sold every box.

I wanted to tell you that story, because … sometimes you have the words, but it’s too hard to get them to come out of your mouth. See … I know you were going to ask me something … but then Patsy told you I think you’re ugly, because you have acne and the medicine isn’t working. That I’d never go to the dance with you. And that I think you smell like old socks.

Well, I didn’t say that and I’d rather not say the following out loud so I wrote it.

(Holds up a large index card. “Patsy is a bitch” and then another “You’re cute” and then another “Be My Dance Date”)

Well … what do you say? I have a blank card, and a pen, if that’d be easier for you.

Want to use the Un-Chatty Cathy monologue for an audition or a school assignment?

Get to know the character of Cathy, read the short play "Un-Chatty Cathy" in the play collection 3-Short: A Trio of Plays by Gabriel Davis. Available in print anddigital editions here. ​

There's No Place Like Oz MonologueMonologues for young womenby Gabriel Davis

​A young woman auditioning for "The Wizard of Oz" asked for an original piece with a satirical take on the classic work! Check out the result: "There's No Place Like Oz" and watch as Dorothy hatches a wild plan with Toto to get back to the Emerald City!

Oh Toto, what were we thinking coming back here to Kansas?

Sure, the first few days back were great. Auntie Em and Uncle Henry by my side, bringing me soup, all hugs and kisses and warmth. They were just so glad I was ok.

But now that I’m fine … everything’s gone back to the way it was. Auntie Em just acts like I’m in the way again. She’s busy making sure Uncle Henry tends to the farm properly, and his farm hands don’t sleep on the job. Plus she’s taking care of everything in the house and I’m … I’m just that annoying girl talking about scarecrows and tin men and Emerald cities.

Yesterday she told me to stop talking such nonsense or she’d call for the men in white coats. I’m sure she was just trying to scare me … right, Toto? She would never … why that’d be more wicked than the witch of the West, wouldn’t it?

No Auntie Em loves me, she would never do that. What was that noise? If she hears me talking to you … she’d say you’re just a dog and you don’t understand me … but you do understand me don’t you Toto?

It's just you and I together in this world Toto and I know you feel like I do … you long for the Emerald City don’t you? You wonder how scarecrow is getting on with his diploma? Has he gone on to graduate studies? Or the Tin Man with his heart. Has he fallen in love? The Lion with his badge of courage. Has he fought any great battle?

If only we could write them? But we can’t, can we? No, the only way to see them again is to travel far off, over the rainbow, way up high once again. To the land that everyone says we dreamed of! But it was more than a dream, wasn’t it Toto? Bark twice for “Yes.”

Oh Toto! You do understand me! That’s why we have to get back to Oz. Where everything is in color and even the flying monkeys have a song in their hearts. I tried to click my heals together yesterday, but my slippers here are too drab … So … There’s a jewelry shop in town … and they have Rubies! So what we need to do is steal uncle Henry’s truck, he keeps a shotgun in the shed, we’ll need that too …

Oh it's not a crime, Toto if no-one gets hurt. We need those rubies and I’ve got glue to attach them to my slippers. Before the police come, we’ll have glued them all onto my slippers and clicked our heels together and we’ll be well on our way back to Oz.

My grown daughter has sent me here with this voucher to get my tattoo removed. A “birthday” present she calls it. She thinks my tattoo is … This song … this song that’s playing … ! Oh, never mind … for a moment I thought it was a different song … I’m sure this is a fine song but …

You know a great song when you hear it. You hear such songs and suddenly you’re filled with joy or sadness or lust or rage or love. What is it about such a song? Its power to plumb the depths of our primal feeling. To call vivid flashes of sense and memory, to color our thought, alter the rhythm of breath, the beating of a heart?

A song can transform the world. It can set us free and bring down the walls that divide us.

For me growing up in East Berlin that song was “Looking for Freedom” sung by the incomparable David Hasselhoff. Before it reached #1 here on our charts, I heard it and I could not unhear it.

It haunted me, possessing my voice in the shower. I’d find myself compelled to sing it - loud as I could - and my girlfriend, often in there with me, she says “Otto, my ears are bleeding, please, please won’t you stop.” But I could not stop. I tell her, “Today your ears may bleed, but soon it will be your heart that bleeds as mine does for unity with West Germany. And she gives me that look that she gives me. But then she begins to sing it too.

We’re so loud together singing it that our neighbor, the old man in the next apartment, begins banging on the door telling us to shut up or he’ll call the police. I run out of the shower, throw a towel on, and I open the door still singing and my neighbor is horrified. But when I explain to him why I sing, and then my girlfriend also runs out without a towel on … then he understands, or at least he’s excited, and he begins singing too.

This song made me, my girlfriend, this old man feel things we hadn’t felt for so very long. For my girlfriend and I, that feeling was hope. For the old man, it was probably hope. And soon it wasn’t just us singing Hasselhoff’s harmony of hope. Everywhere you went in East Berlin, people were singing it. It played on the radio day and night. It became our anthem.

And when the East German government announced that we would be allowed to freely cross the wall, I heard the news as if delivered to me by the baleful baritone of Hasselhoff himself.

New years eve, 1989. I stand with my brethren at the crumbled wall, East and West together. And there he is. Hasselhoff in a crane hoisted above the crowd. A god in the machine. My girlfriend and I grip hands tightly. The old man grips my girlfriend’s hand tightly. I feel strange about it, but more than anything just pure, powerful joy.

And then he begins to sing the anthem “Looking for Freedom.” Many of us are crying, because we know that we have found it. We know the Americans laugh at him. They do not understand like we do this beautiful man, his perfect brown curling locks, his soulful melodic ways. But we do. We watch transfixed as he sings, moving about excitedly in his cool leather Jacket. A jacket so awesome it has flashing lights on it.

For we, we the formerly oppressed can watch such a sight without any irony, without any, what you now call “snark”. We are not “snarky” we are free.

Twenty years later, I look back on that moment, and I do not feel ashamed that I adored this man. I do not apologize for the way he moved us all.

My daughter and her American husband can laugh at it if they want. But I lived it. And, yes, I have the tattoo to prove it. I wear it on my breast right here. I wear Hasselhoff with pride.

That is why … I am ripping up this voucher. And I am leaving.

Good Humor Man MonologueMonologues for menby Gabriel Davis

I'm not the kind of guy who would electrocute another guy. I believe in the golden rule, and that guy didn't do anything to me. So why did I electrocute him Joe? I'm a good guy. I bring ice cream to kids. I'm a Good Humor man, for Pete’s sake!

I wish I’d never joined that study on learning and memory at Yale. The add in the paper was so enticing; 4 dollars for an hour of my time. Why I’d have to sell 26 butterscotch sundaes to make 4 dollars in an hour!

They told me they wanted to study how punishment impacts a person’s ability to recall a sequence of word pairs. But what they really were studying was me. To see if I'd keep giving a person electric shocks if he failed a memory test. That was my job! 4 dollars for an hour to shock a man if he remembered a word pair wrong. Oh how I wish I’d taken that hour to aggressively sell butterscotch sundaes instead of … of …

The guy I electrocuted … a war veteran from West Haven … at the start of the study, he mentioned he had a minor heart condition, nothing to worry about, he said ... but ... knowing that, how could I keep pressing the button and shocking him? I could blame the experimenter. Every wrong answer I had to increase the punishment by 50 volts. As I got to 200 volts, the old veteran, he was located in the other room, he started to make these grunts, like “uhhh.” Sounded like he was in some pain over there. We’d better go check on him, I tell the experimenter. He says “you must continue.” I tell him I don’t want to continue if the guy is suffering. He says, “You have no choice.” But of course I had a choice. I always have a choice

When the punishments exceeded 300 volts and the man in the other room started screaming I asked, I demanded the experimenter stop and go check on him. But the experimenter said “Whether the learner likes it or not, you must go on until he has learned all the word pairs correctly.” I told the experimenter, we must stop, we could really cause some harm here. But the experimenter said that while the shocks might be painful, no permanent harm would be done.

I continued. At 350 volts the man I was shocking started banging on the walls. I told the experimenter I wouldn’t be responsible for something like this, if anything should happen to the man … but the experimenter said there was no danger and anyway, he was responsible, not me.

At 400 volts the man’s voice was loud and clear coming through the walls. He was yelling “let me out of here! I told you I have a heart condition and my heart is starting to bother me!” I stood up, I wouldn’t do this anymore. I told the experimenter he could keep his 4 dollars. He said the 4 dollars was mine, even if I quit.. but if I quit, it would ruin the experiment. He assured me everything was fine, to sit down. He seemed so calm, so sure of himself. Well, I didn’t want to ruin his experiment and he didn’t look worried at all …

I figured he’s in charge. He’s a Yale man and I’m just a Good Humor man. He would know, and what do I know? So I kept going up to the highest voltage 450 volts! The man in the other room wasn't making a sound now. I thought I might have killed him. An image of him slumped over in the other room consumed my imagination.

Then the experimenter tells me that the man is fine. He tells me about the true purpose of the study. They’re looking at how normal, decent people, like me can get involved in atrocities and war crimes. The man from the other room comes in all smiles and gives me a great big hardy hand shake. He tells me I did a great job. He’s fine. He’s fine! Oh, I felt so relieved.

I headed out, my four dollars in hand, and got into my truck. There was this incredible buzzing in my head and I found myself hungry, ravenous. I ate two butterscotch sundaes, a chocolate burst cone, and a couple dreamsicles. I felt so cold. No, Joe, not because of the ice cream. Because of what I’d done! I’d electrocuted a man, Joe. And all the push up pops in the world can’t push a man’s spirits back up after that.

And why? Because some Yale man told me to do it. Golly, Joe, its left me feeling chillier inside than all the frozen treats in the galaxy. A Good Humor man’s cold goodies are supposed to warm the hearts of children and families. But can mine still do the job?

Can I still ring my bell and wear the captains cap and suspenders of my trade? Do I still deserve to peddle Good Humor? I know … I know you just came to get your girls some strawberry shortcake bars … but before you buy them … I thought it only fair to tell you … who you’re buying them from.

Alright well … that’ll be 70 cents. Thanks Joe. You have a good day too.

Indestructible Super PuppiesMonologues for young men or womenby Gabriel Davis

A young engineer named Alex (can be played by a male or female) addresses a panel of scientists and investors to appeal for funding for a critical project ...

You study the behavior of convicted murderers, right? How many of them tell you that they were cuddling with an adorable puppy when they snapped? None, right?

So why don’t we lock them away with puppies? Yes, there might be a risk they would kill the puppies. But what if those puppies couldn’t be killed? What if I told you I had a way to engineer a puppy for both optimal cuteness and indestructibility?

I know, it sounds like sci-fi, but it’s not. In Japan, they already have adorable white robotic seals that bring joy to the elderly and infirm. Look it up, google robotic seals Japan!

What if we could engineer a totally lifelike, indestructible super puppy? I tell you it can be done, and you won’t know the difference between it and a standard puppy, except if you try to snap its neck its impossible.

Now, we take a room full of those puppies and we put the most hardened gang banger in there. At first they may try to kill the puppies. Sure, we’d expect that. That’s why its so important these puppies are indestructible. Soon, the murderer exhausted from the futility of trying to snap unbreakable puppy neck falls into a state of learned helplessness. They begin to cry in despair “Why, why can’t I kill these puppies! Why!?” At that moment they are vulnerable and our super puppies close in, licking and nuzzling and staring with their perfectly round adorable eyes. Their little puppy paws will be perfectly designed to hit ticklish spots and what is going to happen is those criminals will begin to giggle. And all the while these puppies will just keep coming and coming and coming at them with their relentless cuteness. And these puppies never get tired.

Imagine it, someone who has grown up in a violent landscape filled with conflict and abuse. Instead of putting them into a locked environment filled with more of that, what if we said “Put him in the Puppy Room!”

At first they might say “No, please, no, no … not the Puppy Room!” Because what self respecting hardened man or woman wants to commune with puppies. Cuteness is the enemy of toughness. But faced with this unbearable cuteness and incredible unflappable affection, their anger, their fear, their hate will be overwhelmed by love.

Yes, I have a dream of invincible super puppies. They will not just be cute and unkillable, a marvel of modern engineering, but they will lift humanity out of the darkness.

Now … Who among you is going to fund my research?!

Always SmilingOne minute monologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

(Cathy addresses her friend Lynne)

Smile! It helps, Lynne. Try working in finance for a Fortune 100. You want to talk about high pressure, high stress?

But I always, always smile. Yesterday, one of the senior execs I’d seen around, but never actually talked to, he calls me out on it. “Why are you always smiling?” Sort of half joking, but there’s an edge to it, right? And he goes “Yeah, it’s one of two things. Either you haven’t been at the company too long or you’re new to this role.” So I say “Well, I’ve been with the company for 10 years so I’m sufficiently tainted.” “Oh, 10 years,” he says, “but new to this role, right?” And I’m sure he expected me to say “Right,” so he could say, “See, I knew it! You’ll lose that smile soon enough!” Or something. But instead I say, “Well, there are two options. A, I can be unhappy to be here or B, I can be happy to be here. Yeah, I am new to this role, and I like option B.” And he chuckles a little, and says, “I like you!” And guess what? Every time he sees me in the hall now, he gives me a big smile!

The Gratitude ListMonologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

Maggie is speaking to a girlfriend who is struggling with finding peace and happiness in her life. Maggie, it seems, has found the answer in gratitude lists ...

You need a gratitude list. It will literally change your life.

So for awhile Steve and I were going through a rough patch. And Steve's a fixer, right? He got all these books on happiness and how to be more fulfilled in life. One of the things all these books said was keep a gratitude list. You know, it's scientifically proven to increase your level of satisfaction with your life.

At first I was skeptical. Steve was adamant it would fix us and everyday was making these gratitude lists of "10 things I'm grateful for" and reading them to me.

His lists were like, "I'm grateful to have a beautiful wife to share my life with. Grateful for her smile that lights me up inside, grateful for her lips that kiss me so softly, grateful for her mind that engages me..." Etcetera, etcetera to 10 everyday. And everyday he'd be like, "let me hear yours." And everyday I didn't have one, I couldn't think of anything.

But good old Steve has never left a project unfinished in his life. He just kept on the way he does, quietly, calmly, steadily, endlessly encouraging me to write one. Sort of like Chinese water torture. Haha.

So finally, I'm like, ok Steve! And I write a list and I read it to him.

Things I'm grateful for:-The quiet intimacy of taking bubble baths alone-Earplugs and the lock on the bathroom door-A comfortable bed to sleep in-The sound of Steve sleeping nearby on the couch-Sex; doing it for myself with myself-Lots of closet space, with Steve's stuff in the spare room-Spending more time with my family, who never liked Steve-Knowing that the female life expectancy is longer than the male's-Steve's family history of heart disease -Inspiring stories of second marriages

So after I read my list to Steve, he's all critical of it, like "That's only 9 things and you're supposed to have 10" and then he began weeping uncontrollably. Not long after that Steve filed for divorce. I added another item to my gratitude list

10- Getting divorced from Steve!

I can't say enough about these gratitude lists and their power to improve your life and lift your mood. I've never been happier!!

Secret IdentityMonologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

(Diana addresses her boyfriend. She’s wearing a coat) Bob are you sure you want to give me that ring? It’s a big rock. I like it. But you need to know something first. Something I haven’t told you about myself. (Opens coat to reveal she’s dressed as ….) I’m Wonder Woman. You have asked Wonder Woman to be your wife. Don’t freak out. I know, it’s a lot to take in. Like when people say they don’t know how I do it all and I must be a Superwoman … they are factually correct. I am literally a Superwoman. I’m an Amazonian princess with superhuman powers and superior combat skills. But I don’t want you to feel like I’m not the same girl you fell in love with.It’s still me. I'm still the same sweet, well mannered young woman that enjoys cuddling up by the fire with a book and a cup of chamomile. But you should also know that I maintain a large arsenal of weapons, have an invisible airplane, and a tiara that I can shoot off my head like a projectile. Wow, you’re still standing here. I can’t believe it. At this point, every other guy I’ve dated has passed out, wet himself, or made a run for it. But you’re special, you’re different, aren’t you? Well, at least I hope you are. You need to understand, my job takes its toll. I’m often in a bitchy mood after battling mythological monsters or toppling fascist regimes. And I can’t be defined by a man, I’m a feminist, big time. Look, I’m sorry I kept my secret identity from you. It’s really a necessity to give me some downtime from all the supervillains and paparazzi. But I promise, from now on, there won’t be any secrets between us. I’ll never keep anything from you, and I’m certain you’ll be totally honest with me. Literally 100% certain. I have a golden magic lasso of truth. So … on that note … moment of truth. (she lassoes him) Do you still want to marry me?

(Check out the extended, longer version of "Secret Identify", click here.)

12 Years WiseA female monologue for teensby Gabriel Davis

I'm twelve. Yes, I'm only twelve. I don't know everything you do. But I need you to listen to me. Because I think I know something here..

I know when you yell at mom its usually because you think you 're right and she's wrong. But if mom's crying because you're yelling about how wrong she is then I think you're even more wrong ..

I'm only twelve. As you like to remind me. You know more stuff. But I know there must be a better way to make your point than to stick mom with it until she cries. Maybe you could soften your point.. Like I did with Jackie ..

I didn't tell you or mom this but... Jackie took my favorite dress without asking. The one I was going to wear my first day back at school.And went to a sleepover and got grape soda all over it. It's ruined. I wanted to yell at her. To tell her right in front of you and mom how insensitive she was and how she's a bad sister because she didn't think of me at all and how she is totally selfish...

But the last time I did that she didn't talk to me for a week and ...No instead I downloaded that funny movie about the school dance she was dying to see and we watched it and laughed and when we were both really happy together them I told her quietly, privately in her room about how excited I'd been to wear the dress my first day back at school and what I loved about it. She said I was just telling her to make her feel bad.

I said ... I said I was just telling her because I wanted her to know how I felt. Because I wasn't sure she knew. And she said... she kinda knew but not how MUCH it mattered to me.So when she finally apologized, I knew it was real not because you or mom made her. But because she loves me.

So I'm saying...maybe instead of yelling at mom when she gets home..Maybe you should take her on a really nice date instead.

I'm just saying... Do you want Mom to be nicer to you ... Or do you just want to be "right"? It's up to you, dad.

Basketball TherapyMonologues for young menby Gabriel Davis

I don't need therapy! I don't need to be here. I'm not insane, I'm Linsane. As in I've got "a condition" called Linsanity! And anyone in their right mind who has seen point guard Jeremy Lin do his thing on the basketball court would have it too!

That's what my mom and sister don't get. That's why they wanted me to come talk to you. But I don't need to be here. I'm only here because my mom caught me talking about Jeremy Lin at my father's wake.

I never would have said anything, but out of the blue my cousin Arnie is like, "Jeremy Lin's a passing fad." If my dad had heard that, he'd have jumped out of that coffin and whooped Arnie. I actually looked over at dad, lying there in our living room, wearin' his sunday best, I half expected to see him get up.

Of course he didn't, so I had to tell Arnie myself how Lin's got this low dribble that throws the defense, how his pick and rolls and combinations driving to the net are sick. Arnie tells me, the only reason he's getting any attention is because he's like one of the first few Asians in basketball. Oh boy, I thought. Dad would have kicked Arnie out of the house by now. But I didn't, I just got into I guess a slightly ah heated debate with him where I like, dared him to a game of air basketball in the mud room.

That's around the time some of the relatives said it seemed insensitive of me to go and play air basketball in the mud room with everyone else trying to mourn and pay their respects and honestly I don't even care. It was my dad. I'm the most relative to the situation if you know what I mean.

So then for the next two weeks Lin just continued to kick major ass and I couldn't pull myself away to do all these family activities. Lin was on fire and you know- My dad would have been pumped. Mom had this dinner in honor of him and I ... I said I felt sick so I could stay home and watch the game. Dad would never have gone to some dinner with this game going on.

Before Lin even made it to the NBA, my dad saw back in the day. Dad followed college ball too and knew how good Lin was at Harvard. When Lin first made it to the NBA and was struggling a bit, dad would talk about how Lin just hadn't found his stride yet but he had greatness inside. Dad and I could talk about basketball for hours.

So I guess that's why I ... I just don't want to stop talking about basketball you know? To be honest, as long as I'm shootin' air hoops in the mud room and cuttin' up with Arnie, and watching the games like a religion ... it doesn't even feel like he's gone. That's what they all can't understand. I'm not insensitive ... I'm ...

They all want to be sad he's gone, see? But he's not. I'm with him, I'm keeping him with me. So ... if they sent me here so I'd stop well ... I'm not going to stop talking about or watching basketball. They think I need this ... talk therapy, but I already got it you know.

So um ... you follow basketball all at all? Oh yeah?! Which team?

Miss HavishamMonologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

A student asked for an example of a monologue inspired by the character of Miss Havisham from Dickens' classic "Great Expectations." I whipped this up in ~10 minutes; so excuse the very loose interpretation of her character below. Enjoy!

The horrid sick little boy. That's what he was. When cicadas mate, they rub their little spindly legs together quickly and the noise of thousands of them rubbing their little legs all at the same time fills the night with a sort of music. But if you look closely it's just so many disgusting little bugs.

That night, the night I'd freeze my clocks forever, you could hear their chant. My bridesmaid Althea said it was an omen, the beginning of the new life I was about to embark upon.

Her uncle teased her it was just the season. And then we waited until a message arrived that he would not be embarking in any journey with me.

It was too much to take. I had this nervous habit of tearing at the skin on my hand. I had scratched it raw this night. And when I knew that he had left me, pierced my heart this beautiful perfect angel of a boy .. I ran into the night as if he were out there calling to me from the trees.

I grabbed a small one, small tree with small thin trunk not yet strong and I wanted to destroy it. To tear it from the ground and expose it's roots. I shook and shook and shook it. And the cicadas began to fall all about me. On my hair and even in my mouth.

I was one of these bugs. I was hideous and the boy had seen that.

But he was hideous too. And for what he had done I would squash young little Pip like vermin.

Almost 16Comedic monologues for young womenby Gabriel Davis

A young actress auditioning for her school requested a monologue for a 15 year old. With that broad request, I decided to make the piece about being not quite old enough to drive. Enjoy!

Dad, you will let me take the car myself. I’m going to be 16 in two weeks. Yeah, technically my learner’s permit requires you in the car with me … technically I have to wait two weeks to get my license …. But you know I can drive, you told me I’m better than mom. I can three point turn, parallel park, and I observe the traffic laws like a religion. So it’s not like irresponsible to let me drive, because you know I’m awesome at it. GOD! This is so unfair. I hate you! You’re going to ruin me socially. The coolest girls in freshman year, the one’s whose parents are all probably making huge donations at mom’s gala tonight, who live in the massive houses on the hill and won’t talk to me. They started talking to me. Because, they needed a ride to the dance. And I’m like, I can take you. And they’re like, “you’re 16?” and I’m all “yeah.” And then they said, “cool.” And I’ve been eating lunch with them everyday this week, and they’re all so excited. It was well thought out. You and mom were supposed to be at her benefit gala thing tonight … you weren’t supposed to have a stupid fever and be stuck at home. If I let them down… If I don’t get in that car right now and go pick them up and take them to the dance … I’m dead or I might as well be. They will make it their life’s work to ruin me. I will be marked, mocked, and probably shunned. My entire high school experience will become hell. I’m not being dramatic. I’m being accurate, dad. This is how things go. So I’m begging you … just …. Just go to sleep. You have a fever you know. You need your rest. Just, go to sleep now and I’ll… I’ll still be here when you wake up in exactly 3 hours. Right before mom gets back. Please dad. My life depends on it.

The Farting YogiA comedic female monologueby Gabriel Davis

So I'm in my yoga class. Our instructor tells us to get into Sukhasana. Sit cross legged basically. He tells us we should feel relaxed and at home in the pose. I try but ... it smells funny in the yoga studio today.

I heard of this blogger in the city called the Farting Yogi. All she does is visit yoga classes and fart bomb them. Then she "exposes" the people who are not zen with it all. I'm pretty sure she's directly to my left. Her downward dog smells like downward dog doo doo.

So, our teacher decides to start with a healthy round of kundalini breathing. It's called Breath of Fire and my nose feels like its on fire! I try to breathe out of my mouth instead, but the instructor locks eyes with me and tells the whole class, "Breath of Fire must flow through the nose" He tells us to not let anything break our focus, called Drishti. But the smell of shitsky is breaking my Drishti!

I peer around the room and I'm not the only one. A few people are actually getting up with their mats and leaving. The instructor looks a little concerned, he says, "Today, I'd like to talk about the foundational yogic principle of Ahimsa or First, do no harm." One lady says loudly "tell that to whoever is harming our noses!"

The instructor looks a little shaken. He says, "in yoga, we extend compassion to our fellow beings. We put ourselves in their shoes. If the smell in here seems harmful, imagine how holding that smell inside must have felt. Perhaps painful?"

"Fuck this!" the lady says and storms out. A few more people follow her. The instructor continues "today, let's support each other, let's not keep our painful, smelly winds inside. Let's do the wind relieving pose together to release them!" He demonstrates the wind relieving pose. Basically, you lay on your back and use your leg as a pump to force all the farts out.

The sounds and smells that ensued were nothing short of horrible and nightmarish. As if the entire rooms were enveloped in a disgusting brown fog. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the source of all of this smiling broadly. She was enjoying it! But I didn't want to be one of those non-compassionate people who stormed out. I was determined to stick in there with whatever this was becoming.

So I tried, I tried to accept everyone's farts. I repeated our instructor's words "May all beings be happy, all beings be free." I told myself, we are all one, I am in everyone's farts and everyone's are in mine. I tried to lose track of where my farts end and everyone else's begin. I tried to be one with the farts and accept them.

But I didn't. My path to enlightenment will not be paved with farts. I did not end up enlightened, only nauseous.

Breaking Up with BrandonComedic Female Monologue from the play Unbearable HotnessBy Gabriel Davis

(Jill addresses Andrew, who is obsessed with Marisa ... just like her ex boyfriend Brandon was).

Ugh, you sound just like Brandon. You know, for two years, I beg him to transfer here, so we can be together. “Oh no” he says, “some of my credits won’t transfer over, I’ll have to spend like an extra semester or a summer to catch up.” Then on his visit over winter break I introduce him to Marisa. (Beat)Suddenly, he changes his tune. “What’s one summer when I can be near you?” And he transferred.

And I was thrilled … but only for like two seconds because as soon as he got here every other word out of his mouth started to be … “Marisa! Marisa, Marisa, Marisa!” (Singing) “I once knew a girl named Marisa!” (Beat)So … anyway … last night was the last straw. He was repeating her name over and over in his sleep, “Marisa, oh, Marisa, oh, Marisa!” I wake him up and I say, “What were you just dreaming about?” He tries to play it all innocent “Uh, nothing. What do you mean?” And I’m like, “it’s never going to happen.” And he’s all, like- “what’s never going to happen?” And I’m like “Marisa! You and Marisa!” And he’s all “Why would I want to be with Marisa!? You and I are together.” (Beat)And I’m like “Well what if we weren’t together, would you consider being with her?” And he says, trying to act casual “I guess, I’d be open to it. Why? Did she say something about me?” (Beat)And I say “No! Did you not hear me when I said it’s never going to happen!?” And he’s all offended, “Well, ‘never’ is pretty harsh. I mean, I’m pretty good with the ladies.” And I’m like “Not from where I’m standing, buddy!” He goes, “So are you saying you want to break up?” I go “No, you’re saying that.” And he says … he says, “I can’t get her out my mind, I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” So I say to him: “You’re throwing our relationship away for nothing. She’s like fort knocks, nobody cracks that!”

(Jill is speaking to "Benny," a tomboy, and her "second best friend." Jill is talking about Marisa who is ... or was ... her best friend).

You’ve got to swear to keep this quiet, Benny. Marisa is gay. But she won’t tell anyone. I’m the only person she’s told. And after she told me, she … tried to kiss me. Well she did kiss me.

(Benny asks if there was tongue). Benny! Yeah, there was tongue. And I didn’t totally hate it.

So after … Marisa says, she says she’s scared to come out by herself … but she thinks she could do it if I would come out with her.

What could I say? Just because I felt a little chemistry doesn’t mean, it doesn’t mean I’m gay. I mean, one kiss with Marisa and it’s not like, I mean I’m still attracted to boys – even though most of them are idiots – I still …

I can’t just switch sides on a whim. And that ‘s when she says, “So don’t do it on a whim. Do it after we make love.” So what did I do? I did her.

No, not really!! But that’s what you wanted me to say, right? See, this is why you’re my second best friend, Benny! No. In actuality I freaked out. I ran the hell out of there.

Next day she shows up at my dorm. Pissed. She says, it was really hard coming out to me the way she did. And my “treating her like a leper” has just made it even harder for her to ever come out.

And you know what. I’m pissed. Because it’s not fair, her putting all this on me. And in fact, it’s not fair that she’s staying in the closet when she has all these boys pining after her and going crazy trying to be with her, when she could just let them all off the hook if she’d come out.

And considering one of those boys was my boyfriend .. well ex …. That’s what’s really messed up, Brandon and I would probably be still together if she would come out. She admits to me, part of why it’s so hard for her, it’s not the fear of how people will see her. It’s the loss of all those crazy, obsessed guys, like Brandon, who’ve always followed her around through life. She enjoys the attention.

So I say, that whole thing where a guy need only compare her to the right movie star to unlock her heart is just an urban legend, or I guess a campus legend … and I say to her “I bet it’s just a game you play with the boys to string them along.” And she says, she asks if I’m calling her a liar. And I say, I say – “no, I’m calling you a lying lezzie.”

And she says to me, she says, “Thank you, thank you for helping me see what it would be like if I really came out to everyone.” She says to me, “thanks to you I’ll just stay in the closet forever and let Brandon screw me.” Yeah. It’s a mess.

I'm More Man than YouComedic Female Monologue from the play Unbearable HotnessBy Gabriel Davis

(Beatrice, a tomboy who goes by the nickname "Benny", is speaking to her guy friends about how she is "more man" than they are. She's always been treated as "one of the guys" until just now, when her "manliness" is being called into question)

It’s a dark day for all of us guys. Losing Marisa as an object of desire … it’s a real loss to all men pining after her everywhere. And it hurts. It really hurts. What do you mean it doesn’t hurt me too? You think I’m not suffering? Suddenly you're acting like I’m not “one of the guys” just because my full name is Bernice. Did you just say because I don’t have a “ding-dong”? You think a ding dong makes you a man? Look, I can drink you fools under the table, bench more on weights, and barbecue like nobody’s business. BBQ. I grill meats on my grill every weekend. I slather it with homemade sauce. Do they allow me to grill in the dorms? A man grills where he wants to grill. Look, boys I need you to listen, and listen good. A man doesn’t need to have all that anatomical stuff to be a man. Man-ness is about grit and maturity and toughness. I may not have a ding-dong or balls, but I’ve got more cojones than you lot put together.

Now, let me show you sissies some Practical Magic. (Swings Marisa back and kisses her deep and long. Marisa's leg goes up.) That’s how a man kisses, boys! Hey Marisa, you can call me Bernice. Sorry … sorry, Jill … just had to have a moment of glory. You guys are cute together. You two. Go! Go be happy. But hey, Marisa. If anything ever changes. Call me.

You throw out a net. “House Party” – “Free Beer” – “Free Vodka” – “Free Grub.” Figure you’ll catch lots of guppies, a few snapper, some sea bass, if you’re lucky a blue marlin but not – you don’t expect to catch a WHITE WHALE! We have got a White Whale on our hands, boys!

Yes, correct, Chuck. Marisa is like a white whale. I’m using fish for like, levels of hotness. Right? The guppies are like the plain Janes, the snapper are the cute, perky chicks, the sea bass got some curves, the blue marlin are pretty smokin’ and Marisa is, she’s –

Like the White Whale of hotness! Like in Moby Dick, Chuck. Just call me Ishmael! Oh … really? Ahab was the guy chasing after the White Whale? Just call me Ahab!

(Livi tells her husband Pax about one of the few times in her childhood she felt her father actually "saw" her).I was fourteen. For some reason, my guidance counselor took an interest in me. Who knows what she saw in me – wearing Barry’s hand-me-down rugby shirts... But she entered me in a local beauty pageant. Bought me a nice dress, and some makeup and everything. Got me all dolled up....(Beat)It’s a silly story. (Pax tells her to "go on")(Beat)Well, the night of the pageant came – and she tried to get my dad there. But of course he wouldn’t... And then...I won. I won. I couldn’t believe it. And they gave me this tiara. I remember getting home and being so proud – and there was Dad, sitting on his Lazy-Boy, watching something funny on TV, 'cause he was laughing – just really in a good mood. Well, I just waited, patiently, until the commercial. Then I walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder, ever so lightly, and showed him my tiara – my crown. (Beat)And this part, I’ll never forget, he actually smiled at me – he touched my face – and he said “Are you my Miss America? Are you my little Miss Universe?” At that moment, I had his attention. He was looking right at me. And I remember, thinking it was really weird, because I’d never noticed how blue his eyes were before.

Space is Nicer than HereA comedic female monologue from the play Dreams in Captivityby Gabriel Davis

(Reina and Barry have been having some marital tension lately; ever since she enrolled for a class about space at community college. In this scene, she cuts their intimate time together short to do some homework, using "the clapper" to get the lights on quickly. Barry does not understand her new found dreams of space and is a little jealous of her obvious infatuation with her professor, Robert)I have to finish my homework. That’s it, Barry. I’m turning on the light. (Reina claps twice. The lights come on)Ah, that's better. Yes, I was planning to “run off to do my homework.” Why can’t you fold your own laundry? No, I don’t want you to go to work with a crumpled shirt tomorrow. Fine. (Reluctantly, Reina begins folding) You don’t see what the big deal is? Just because it’s a life-long learning class at a community college and there’s no grade doesn’t make it any less important. It’s broadening me. Why can’t you understand? What I’m learning – it’s important – to, like, all mankind.

The class is not called “Pigs in Space” or “Cities in Space.” It’s called “Cities Among the Stars.” Well it’s not “a fruity class.” It’s an incredible class. My teacher, Robert, is brilliant. Well, everyone is on a first name basis with him. We all call him Robert.

Robert says cities among the stars are mankind’s best chance at survival. He says we’re the first species on the planet smart enough to escape extinction, but we probably aren’t mature enough to use our brains to do it.

(She begins hanging his shirts. Several are already haphazardly folded. She picks these up and will hang them as well during the following).

Robert says that we only have limited resources to do it though, and that we’re using them up on stupid things instead. Like weapons of mass –

No, I cannot “go and get you some pretzels”!!

See, you’re part of the problem. All you wanna do is sit on your ass and watch TV, these stupid reruns, and eat pretzels.

So anyway, he gave the class this homework. That we should think about how we could each help the cause. And I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided…

(Livi speaks to her husband Pax, who is in a wild manic state, packing their things to move immediately to L.A. and begin their dream life. He imagines himself as a restaurateur, Livi as an actress. Livi wants to calm her husband down, to get him to come to bed and forget the dream ... for tonight ... but deep down she wants him to surrender on his dreams forever and be at peace in their small town life together)Where are you trying to run to, Pax? Can’t you just stop and enjoy life while you’re here—lucky to be alive and breathing? I mean, there may be no tomorrow and you may have missed today in some desperate, frenetic, striving frenzy.

I like the people at the retirement home. Their time is limited and they know it. They have a palpable sense of their limits. And they know how to enjoy the moment. There’s an old couple there, that I aspire to. They sit together, all day, hand in hand, just breathing, staring at the TV.

Yes Pax … like just two bodies...sitting there. Yes. "A sitting-down love." They have "a sitting down love." You think love should make you stand up, jump up...achieve your greatest heights. Sure, yes love can do that but it can also make you calm, centered, at peace, contented.

Is that really what I want for us? You call it “A life in retirement.” I don't know, Pax. I just want us to be fulfilled. Yes, I know you want that too. So why can’t you accept things the way they are?

It’s not “giving up.” It’s … giving in. Surrendering. Being .. at peace. You say you want to “fly on the stars and never look back.” But Pax … Sometimes falling can feel like flying.

Look we … we don’t have to solve this tonight. Tonight we can just take a breath. Take a step back. We can retire ... to bed. Not retire forever. Not give in forever. Just give in ... for tonight. Retire ... for tonight.

The Roadrunner Never Looks DownA dramatic male monologue from the play Dreams in Captivityby Gabriel Davis

(Pax, an aspiring restaurateur, pleads with his wife, a talented actress, to come with him to L.A. and pursue their dreams together.)You’re so scared. You’re even scared to say you’re scared. Say it! Say “I’m scared!” I’m scared of taking a risk on my dreams! I’m scared of my husband’s dreams! I’m scared to death!

You think this is childish? Livi, I’m trying to help us – get us free, really free – really. There’s a horrible gravity to this place. I’m afraid if we don’t get out soon...

I know, you think even if we go...the chances of us making it out there... are …. very small. And maybe you're right, but maybe... You know how in the old Roadrunner cartoons the Roadrunner would run right off a cliff and the coyote would chase him--

The roadrunner, he’d go "Beep, Beep" and fly clear across never looking down once. The coyote would run after him ... he'd run and run on nothing but air ... and only at the moment when he looked down, when he realized the impossibility of what he was doing...only then would he fall—but what if he never looked down...would he have made it?

Sure, it's only a cartoon, you're right about that. You keep telling me how we’re here in the "real world", "real people" who have to face the reality that the majority of restaurants fail, and the majority of actors are out of work—that's your truth- But, you’re also just looking down. You keep looking down.

You say “We’ve got vapors.” You say “We’ve got some elusive, ephemeral fantasy of a chance…” But you’re miserable here. Sorry … yes, you are useful here. You spend your days tending to the needs of the needy-- But what about your own needs?

Why would you say that? You think you’re not enough for me? You are everything to me. It’s all this … life in this stifling city slinging burgers at Steak’n Shake … that's not enough for me. I want us to be happy. And we can’t be happy here. We can’t stay.

Best Lazyboy in the GalaxyA dramatic male monologue from the play Dreams in Captivityby Gabriel Davis

(Barry speaks to his wife Reina, who has been taking a class at community college about mankind someday creating cities in space. She's upset with him, because he hasn't been supportive of her dream to work for Nasa. Reina has applied to Nasa for employment. A letter has just arrived back from NASA)You don’t think I understand what you’re trying to do with this? (on “this” he shakes the envelope in his hand)This big noble thing you want to do for humanity-- (pulls envelope back as Reina grabs for it)You think it’s way above a Techno-Hut salesman’s head? Right? Look, I get it because I’m a Techno-Hut salesman! I see all this technology all day long; and I think if we can create something as amazing as a fifty-inch flat screen plasma television, just imagine what we could do if we really pooled our resources and got focused.

I mean, why are we wasting our time fighting amongst ourselves? That’s Robert’s whole point. Right? RIGHT? You know why human beings are constantly fighting instead of working together to survive? I’ll tell you why!

It’s the same motivation that made man invent the fifty-inch plasma TV. Man is essentially motivated, primarily motivated to sit on his ass. You wanted me to talk about this stuff. I’m talking about it! Men kill for their right to sit on their ass. I’m telling you, wars happen because every man wants the best Lazy Boy Recliner in the galaxy to relax on. AND WE HAVE IT AT TECHNO-HUT.

See we have this automated Lazy Boy. This super deluxe Lazy Boy is outfitted with massagers, heating pads, a cooling unit for drinks – it’s the closest experience of comfort a man can get on earth short of climbing back through his mother’s vagina back up into her womb!

What am I saying? I’m saying we as a race of beings are still in our infancy. Clinging to our collective womb. And while we try to stay in our infancy, so we create and... perpetuate a global infancy filled with global temper tantrums. AND THAT’S JUST THE WAY IT IS!

We can grow up? Not gonna happen. It’s not that I don’t you want it to … it’s just … It’s just a dream. It’s a dream to think we’ll get our collective ass in gear and get motivated by something besides finding more ways to sit on our ass better. I mean, technologically speaking, we’re on the cusp of it. We could become truly independent. Yes!? But first we’d have to decide. Do we want world peace and a chance at long-term perpetuation of humankind, or do we want the Lazy Boy Recliner?

I work at the Techno-Hut. Every year, I meet thousands of representative members of human kind. And I know what they want. I give them what they want. You think that I’m cheating them out of their chance at a better life, and a better world? Right?!

Deafening ApplauseA dramatic female monologue from the play Dreams in Captivityby Gabriel Davis

(Livi speaks to her husband Pax, who has been pushing her to explain why she didn't pursue her dream of becoming an actress)I remember how everyone got quiet, okay?

Quiet...and still. Like they were all connected to me. All a part of me. Even Dad and Barry – I looked out, even they were...seeing me. I mean, really seeing me. And at the end of the show, when I stepped forward to take my bow the applause was—was— It was deafening. In a little high school auditorium. It was deafening and — Dad and Barry were applauding with the rest of them. They had these big smiles on their faces.

Afterwards Dad took us out to dinner. And I was thinking, this is it, ya know. He’s finally seen what they all see. We sit down. The first words out of his mouth are “Sure, you were OK, but I’m not really sure you’ve got the movie star look. Take Annette Benning – she’s real tall, isn’t she, Barry?” “Oh yeah, Liv,” Barry says, “movie stars are real tall.” So I’m like, “What about Marilyn Monroe? She was short.” And Dad just looks at Barry and says “Now she thinks she’s Marilyn Monroe.” And they just laugh and laugh.

Dad wanted me to come work at the Techno-Hut. He didn’t want me to leave.

You ask me if I’m truly happy having stayed? I don’t know. I live a good life here.

Death by PeanutA comedic female monologueby Gabriel Davis

Yes, yes, alright! I did it! You've found me out! I killed the cook in the kitchen with the peanut butter! But honestly, what kind of person goes into cooking with that severe a peanut allergy!? Yes, yes, I killed him. But if it hadn't been me, he would have eventually encountered a peanut on his own.

How did I fool him into eating the peanut butter, you ask? Yes, I'm fairly certain Colonel Catsup asked just now. Because he's dying to know isn't he? But I'll never tell. Alright, I'll tell! If he insists. Really if he insists. Oh don't be a dip Colonel Catsup, just insist. Everyone's waiting for you to. Great!

So I hid the peanut butter inside of ... chocolate! Yes! Everyone knows the cook had a sweet spot for cacao! But it was I who thought to invent a decadent chocolate treat with a peanut butter filling! Yes, it was shaped sort of like a very shallow cup. Why do you ask?

Oh alright. Fine. I didn't invent it. You've found me out. I saw it on the check out line at the grocery store. It's not like you need a PhD to figure that out, Professor Prune. But it was my idea to change the words on the packaging from "Peanut Butter Cups" to "Chocolate Cups." In fact, I sent a copy of the wrapper I created to the company, because it's really confusing, calling them peanut butter cups, when really the chocolate part is more of the cup part.Yes I purchased the murder weapon at check-out in the "impulse buy" section, but I assure you the murder was perfectly pre-meditated. And by pre-meditated I mean, I meditated beforehand. I closed my eyes and imagined myself filled with light and the cook filled with peanut butter. It was very soothing, since really the whole killing someone thing is not very zen.

You see I'm not the kind of woman who would ... Why if that cook wasn't planning to expose our love affair to the world and ruin my husband's political career and my marriage ...

Yes, that's right! The cook was my lover, my paramour! Don't look at me like that Ms. Flamingo. I know you've tasted his gentle consommes, lapped up his bisques, eaten his crabs ... florentine. So don't play innocent.

He was a true artist in the kitchen. The kind of man who knows how to get into your pantry. I loved him. But it was only a short order affair for me and he wanted a 16 course tasting menu! I kept metaphorically saying "Check! Check please!" But he wouldn't listen. No he wouldn't bring the check!

So I did what I had to do. I let him cook me his last supper and ended it with a very final "chocolate cup" for dessert.

(Falling to his knees) Oh, dear, God in heaven. Please, please, please if you have any mercy, please just let me have her. Just one light touch, one little kiss. A smile, I’ll even take just a smile. Or a look. She hasn’t looked at me in a week.

And last week, the only reason she looked my way is I threw my body, like a ragdoll, onto the campus green as she walked by. My perfect white jeans and white button up shirt grass stained beyond bleaching. I did it for her. I’d do it again! I was jumping to catch a Frisbee some guy had thrown to someone else. I wanted to make it look like I was one of those cool guys who plays Frisbee on the campus green. I had actually been reading Proust under a nearby tree. She saw me with the Frisbee and she was like “Nice catch Chuck.” “Nice catch Chuck.” She used to look at me all the time as children. Our mommies would give us baths together. There we were, covered in Johnson and Johnson baby wash, rubber ducks floating by. Why can’t it be like that anymore?

Hungry Yuppies MonologueComedic monologues for menby Gabriel Davis

Do we want our tombstone to read "here lie two yuppies who liked to eat"?

Let's face it, our website HungryYuppy.com is not going to change the world. Using Hungry Yuppy to geolocate this Pork Paradise is a “nice to have” sure, but it’s not like we’d actually go hungry without Hungry Yuppy.

Now today, that homeless man who asked us for a handout, he looked truly hungry. You just walked on as if he didn't exist. How can you do that knowing our father was a hobo? Don’t you wonder what it was about our dad, what strange charms he possessed that mother dove into a dumpster with him? I know you're angry that in the morning mother awoke to find a note scrawled on a used McMuffin wrapper. You resent that I keep that wrapper with me always, the only words we have of our father's. No, I won't "throw it away already."

(Removes wrapper from his breast pocket, reads aloud)

"Darling, I will remember and cherish our night forever. However, I am married to a prostitute and we try to stay monogamous. Me more than her. P.S. I stole your purse, please don't think that diminishes what we shared. You are special. XO"

(Replacing wrapper into his pocket)

Don't you wonder if he is still out there somewhere? Wandering the streets of the city? Every beggar I encounter, I wonder, could this be him? I look for similarities. Does his nose look like ours? Does he have our chin?

I know you say you don't ever think about him. But, I don't believe you. You who sit there, seemingly unaffected taking small dainty bites of what appears to be a maple candied pork belly lollipop. Like a pork pacifier. You’re using it right now to fill a void, aren’t you?

We’re focussed on the wrong market! There’s already a million apps for every yuppy like us with an iPhone, but not a one for all the bums with pay-as-you-go phones! I read a study that in bustling spots in big cities bums can earn upwards of $300 a day! The key is knowing where to beg. To finding the right begging spot.

BeggingSpot.com! That's what we should be working on! Mobile digitized heat maps with the best begging spots in hot red! It’s a social app, right. The homeless can use their mobile to check-in and connect with their friends - “hey guys, guess where I’m begging!” or “hey, some Scrooge just had a breakthrough on the corner of 50th and broadway and is throwing cash around! Get your butts down here!”

We can include user reviews “this spot sucks, some kids lobbed a slurpee at me” or “this spot is awesome, ladies with lots of cash walking poodles!” It can include lifestyle tips, such as which subway is best for squatting, where to find empty refrigerator boxes to craft into sleeping nests, and which soup kitchens have the best food!

I know, I know, many bums don’t have pay-as-you-go phones. So we'll raise capital on Kickstarter to get cheap phones into their hands. We can probably get a celebrity endorsement from Gary Busey, I'm sure he was homeless at one point.

And once we’ve got every bum in the city on our service - we’ll send out an application wide alert! "Attention bums of New York! If you remember sleeping with this woman," a picture of our mother circa 1988 will appear on their screen,"please press 1." He'll press one. Our pictures will appear to him, "Tis us, your twin sons! Please remain where you are. We have geolocated you and are on our way."

That’s how we’ll find him. That’s how we'll reunite with our father and make a positive impact on the world at the same time! What do you think? Are you in? Goddamn it Gregory, take that pig lolly out of your mouth and tell me you’re in!

Love SickComedic monologues for menby Gabriel Davis

There is no one else for me except your daughter. See, I’m emetophobic. It’s a phobia of throwing up. Scared of it worse than death. Rather be in a coffin than bent over a toilet. Anything with even the remotest risk of making me sick I avoid. Except with your daughter Jill. Whenever I’m with her, I get these butterflies in my stomach. Which terrifies me. But I can’t stay away. Worse yet, she has us do these high vomit probability activities together … like whale watching in Bar Harbor, Maine. 4 1/2 hours on a rocking boat on the Atlantic with no escape. I was like “at least let me take some Dramamine.” She said it wasn’t facing my phobia if I drugged myself. She found us seats on the top level of the ship. I told her, “I think my heart is going to explode. Feel it, it’s thumping hard and fast.” She had me slow my breathing, and my heart slowed. About an hour out, everyone on the boat, myself included, seemed good! But Jill started feeling not so good. She asked me if I could get a sick sack, “just in case.” As I got up to find her one, I realized she was just the first domino in a series of people toppling into sickness. They were running for the railings and garbage cans. The sheer number of them was alarming, as if seasickness were a highly contagious virus spreading fast. I flagged down a crew member who got me a few sick sacks. I asked him, “Is this normal? It’s so many people.” And he says “Oh yeah, between us, the staff call this thing ‘the barf cruise’ because frankly, we see a lot more of that than whales.” Then he told me “best place to take your lady is bottom back of the boat. Least rocking there.” I got Jill, and led her to the bottom level. It had become like a Casualty Clearing Station on the front lines of a battlefield. Nauseous people lay splayed across the seats, rocking and moaning. We took our place among them, toward the back. Jill was positively green, her eyes bloodshot. “I have a confession” she said “I’m an emetophobe” I couldn’t believe it. “You too? Why didn’t you tell me?” She said “I thought I had it under control and I wanted to focus on helping you but …” She stopped talking suddenly and put the sick sack over her mouth. Made this sound, kind of like “blechhhhhhh.” Then screamed in horror. Then repeated the cycle “Bleccchhhh” “Ahhhhhhh” “Blecccchhhh” “Ahhhhh.” It was horrible. I felt something shift in me. Realized some part of me had been holding back with Jill. I’d felt unworthy before, like I was a charity case. I had it wrong. And suddenly, I heard myself saying, “I want to be with you, Jill, I mean, really and truly even in sickness, especially in sickness, as long as we both live. Will you marry me?” And for one beautiful moment, there was no rocking of the boat, there was no sea sickness. There were just Jill’s wide surprised green eyes, looking into mine. Her smile rising up like the sun and the word “Yes” escaping her lips.

Of course, a second later, something else escaped her lips. And that was too much for me, and I followed her into sickness. And we went on to have the most miserable and terrifying 3 ½ hours of our lives together. But for one moment we’d been free and unafraid. And that brings me to you, sir. I’d like your blessing. Every time I’ve thought of this moment, of what you might say. I get so nervous you’ll say “no.” I start feeling a little queasy. And now that I’m here, and the way you’re frowning at me, I’m fairly certain I’m going to toss my cookies. But I’m here. Standing before you. Because I know I’m the perfect guy to take care of her. Because if you want grand kids, I’m the only guy she’ll be able to face morning sickness with. Because even if you say “no” and I lose my lunch, it was worth the risk. So it’s up to you. Open your arms and say “hello son” or point me to a nearby bush.

Road to Ruin; Paved with KittensMonologues for men, comedic by Gabriel Davis

The road to ruin is paved with kittens.

Althea and I were so happy. In our little fourth floor walkup on the lower east side, we didn’t have much but we had each other. At night, we’d punctuate the hours with the steady hum of our own love making and then drift to sleep in each other’s arms, whispering to each other dreams of an extravagant wedding we could never afford.

Until one day that little kitten wandered into our apartment through an open window and changed everything. Althea liked the kitten and said she’d keep it and care for it. It was a mangy, skinny little thing with wild unkempt white fur. She’d feed it cream in a bowl and it’d lap it up hungrily. It made her happy, and I liked to see her happy.

She doted on that little kitty. Loved it, rubbed its little belly which grew bigger by the day, what with all the cream she fed it, and it’d just lie there and purr, purr, purr. I started to feel something strange creeping in. I guess you could call it jealousy. But what kind of man is jealous of a kitty?

One time while watching Althea rub that kitty’s belly, I actually caught myself thinking “When was the last time she’d rubbed my belly like that?” I tried to keep such thoughts at bay and calm myself.

Until one night, I couldn’t sleep and wandered into the living room. The kitty lie atop the upright piano. I walked over to it. Looked at it, it’s large well tended belly exposed, it’s legs splayed out to either side. Remnants of rich cream sticking to the fur around its mouth.

I whispered to it “You’re a deadbeat, you know that? All you do is lap up cream and sleep. What do you contribute to this household, huh?” Jealousy had turned to something darker. I wanted the kitty gone. I opened the window and took the kitten in my hands. “Why don’t you go back out into the streets and fend for yourself; and leave Althea and I alone!”

That’s when Althea entered. She’d heard the commotion. She demanded I tell her what was going on, and what I was doing with the kitty. “You want to know what I’m doing with this Kitty? I’m throwing it out the window!” I cried.

She was looking at me like I was a monster. “Don’t look at me like that!” I said, “The way you rubs its belly like that, you don’t rub my belly like that anymore!”

And she says “You’re a man, not a cat and I’ve never rubbed your belly like that!” And I say “Well maybe I want you to! Maybe I want you to rub my belly the way you rub the kitty’s belly.” That’s when I exposed my belly and said “Rub it! Prove you still love me! Rub it!”

That’s when she said maybe I had better go spend the night at my brother’s place, and could I please put the cat down. I put the cat down and left her for the night. The next day, I came to her, apologized, but Althea had seen a side of me she didn’t like. She said she just couldn’t see herself long term with a man who would feel jealous of a kitten. Besides, the kitten needed more space and she’d given it my old room.

“It’s only been one night!” I said, “What do you mean given the kitten my room!” It was over. Since then, I’ve tried to let her go, let it go. But sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ll walk down our old street and look up at the apartment. The kitten is usually in the window, staring down at me. I feel like it has a smug look on its face. But that’s impossible, it’s a kitten, I tell myself. Or is it? That kitten is living the life I should have lived. It’s with the woman I should have had. I really do believe the road to ruin is paved with kittens.

But enough about me. I know it’s not polite to go on about past relationships on a first date. And you haven’t told me anything about yourself yet.

The Matzah ThiefComedic monologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

We've given you a gift, now please give back the Matzah.(Beat)You know, we can't finish the sedor until you return the matzah. Yes it is traditional for the children to steal the matzah, the Afikomen, and demand a ransom for its return so the sedor can be concluded.(Beat)But we have given you a gift... we've paid the ransom.(Beat)You don't want Passover to end?(Beat)That's clever, young man. Its true we can't end the sedor until you provide the Afikomen.(Beat)And you know how religious we are so you've really got us by the matzah balls, don't you?(Beat)Are you smirking? Are you smirking at me?! You think this is all a big joke, do you? Myself and your uncle have work tomorrow. What happens if we're still sitting here around the table waiting for you to return the matzah tomorrow? Huh? We could lose our jobs, do you want that? You want us out in the streets?(Beat)The boy wants us on the streets Meryl. And you just sit there eating brisket!(Beat)Do you want your uncle Meryl to die of a heart attack? If you don't return the matzah so we can end the meal your uncle Meryl will just keep eating Brisket all night long. And then where will he be? Dead and your dear old Auntie a sad widow. Do you want me to be a sad widow?(Beat)You know, we could have you arrested for this. Technically, you're a thief. So we can make a call and ... and have you carted away. And ... and we'll try you as an adult! Oh yes we will! You've been Bar Mitzvahed - you're a man and we'll have you sentenced like a man!(Beat)You think I'm bluffing! (Dialing)I'm calling them now, last chance to return the matzah.(Beat)Hello. Yes I'd like to report a theft. Of matzah. My nephew has stolen the matzah and refuses to return it, and soon I'll be jobless and my husband dead. Please send someone.(Hangs up)There it's done. Someone is on their way. They'll probably sentence you to ten years of Passover.(Beat)Yes that's a real thing. You like matzah so much they'll feed you nothing but matzah for a decade! Your insides will be dry like the desert, and everyday you'll suffer in agony. You'll call out "please lord, I'm sorry for what I've done, please let me just return the Afikomen!" But by then it will be too late.(Beat)Well, it's not too late yet. You can still give it back.(Beat)What's it going to be young man?

Cat MozartMonologues for menby Gabriel Davis

Joe, you want a no-drama, conflict-free relationship. Believe me, Darlene is not the answer. Sure, you’re hot blooded, she screams, you scream, we all scream for Darlene. The fighting fast sex, the makeup slow sex are incredible. I get you. I been there. First it burns so good, then it burns you out. And you think you see a light at the end of the tunnel. But there isn’t one. Not so long as she keeps Cat Mozart. Darlene and I were actually happy, before that fat stray wandered through our window. First time he heard us fighting, he started playing our piano. We thought we hit a gold mine. A piano playing cat. Sure the money from YouTube ads was off the charts. That cat went viral, but he’s also like a virus, man. He’ll only play when there’s human conflict going on. Try yelling at him, he’ll just stare at you. But start digging into your significant other. Start eating into their confidence, questioning everything they do … oh the music starts playing.You know what I’m talking about. He’s a conflict-cat, man. He loves the drama. But those golden tunes he lays down, they come at a price. Go ahead, try and really love her. Compliment her all day long, you’ll see. The music just stops.And Darlene, she doesn’t want the music to stop. There was one week, I refused to yell back. I just bought her flowers, and wrote her love poems. She didn’t know what to do. She had all this anger in her, see – but she couldn’t direct it at me. She took it out on the cat Mozart. “You’re a deadbeat!” she yelled. “I feed and feed and feed you and all you do anymore is lie there on the piano, your feet up in the air. Play something, damn you, play something!” Nothing, see the cat only feeds on human conflict.I kept at it, hammering away at her with gifts and chocolate and encouraging words. One night, she found the kitchen mouse sleeping on cat Mozart’s rotund belly and I thought she was going to kill him. “Calm down, babe” I said. “How can I calm down” she said, “he’s supposed to have a killer instinct and look at him, just lying there a kitchen mouse on his stomach. Kill that mouse!!” She yelled at him.“He’s turned a new leaf, babe.” I told her “this is good, cat Mozart is a pacifist now.”“Its all that milk we’re feeding him,” she said, “It makes his belly soft like a waterbed so the mouse loves it there.” There was no reasoning with her. But boy did I love her. I mean I do get you. There’s something about her, her smell, her touch, those green eyes, that silky red hair. I got down on my knees and I proposed, pulled out the biggest rock you ever seen.“Where’d you get that rock?” No “yes.” No tears. Just “Where’d you get that rock?” When I showed her the certificate, she laughed. It said “conflict free diamonds.” She called me a pussy and that was it. I moved out that night and I haven’t seen her since.Listen, I don’t want to reign on your parade here man. You’re pissed, I can see that. But look, I’ve known you since what … third grade? But think about it, why would she want me in your wedding party? It’s more bullshit man. Drama. So no, I’m not going to be in your wedding party. I’m not going anywhere near that ceremony. And if I were you … I wouldn’t either.

The Burger AddictComedic monologues for menby Gabriel Davis

My doc quite his practice to follow his broadway dreams. He still sees a couple patients backstage during intermission. But you have to pay for and sit through his shows. He takes my vitals and sing diagnoses me. Well, Jay you've got (singing, to tune of the Rolling Stones “Angie”) "Angi, angina, its from the burgers I fear. With no spinach in your soul and no quinoa in your bowl, you can't say you're satisfied?" His lyrics floor me. I run out and don't stay for the second act.

Next thing I know I'm at a gastropub slinging back angus sliders, and the barmaid is staring at me. “What?” I ask. "You might want to slow down there" she says “you know every time a cow farts, it puts a hole in the ozone.” I laugh a little, her stare sharpens like a dagger. “I’m not joking man” she says, “It takes hundreds of millions of cows to keep your angus sliders flowing. The ecological footprint they leave collectively is worse than every automobile on the planet combined.” I complain to the manager and they fire her. But she gets me thinking. Are burgers hurting more people than just me?

That night I look at the burger stack on my bedside table and begin to shed tears of guilt. What am I doing? I put a burger in my mouth and suck on it like a meat pacifier to calm myself down. And I drift to sleep. I dream I'm living in ancient times, part of a lost burger loving civilization. Hieroglyphics of burgers line the walls of our cave dwellings. The cows all have names like "Steero the elder", "Vealo the younger," "Goldie the yummy." And it's Goldie’s turn to be dinner.

The tribesman want to have something special. I suggest adding bacon. They all get very excited and nominate me to prepare the sacred dinner. I set off to satisfy the cravings of my people. I ascend mystic mountain, where bacon bushes grow wild along flowing streams of mayonnaise. I gather these toppings and descend the mountain.

On my way down, I can see the tribesman below dancing in a frenzied circle around Goldie. Two of the tribesman with larger bellies grab their chests and fall over. A loud crack of thunder can be heard. A puff of black gas emerges from Goldie's behind and rises up into the air merging with a monolithic black cloud that hovers above my people.

The tribesman come into focus, I realize, they all look exactly like me. It's a whole tribe of me! I call down to my selves. "Look at you! Worshipping Goldie the calf!" The bushel of bacon in my right arm grows heavy, the clay bowl of mayo balanced on my head begins to wobble. I allow both to fall. On the ground I see two stone tablets. I call out to my selves "You must cease your worship of Goldie the Calf! From this day forward you shall follow these tablets!" I pick them up and reveal on the first tablet - a chick pea! On the second - kale! My selves look up at me, Goldie makes a run for it, sun parts the clouds. I am exalted. The sun begins to pulsate and beep loudly. My alarm, waking me up.

I open my eyes and remove the burger from my mouth. Ever since, I’ve eaten beans and nuts and shit. It sucks. Sometimes I try to shape them into patties. Its not the same. But my cholesterol is getting better and I don’t cry when I eat them.

My name is Jay...and I'm a recovering burger addict.

Posted 2 March 2014

Quiche isn't SexyComedic monologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

Quiche isn't Sexy. I think people who eat Quiche are pretentious. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate you made it. I just think Quiche is pretentious. Quiche is just an egg trying to be more than breakfast.

Its sweet that you had me over, tried to prepare me dinner. But this is a pretense of dinner. Isn’t it?This is basically an omelet disguising itself as a savory pie. It’s the perky beginning to one’s day when it should be the lusty end.

When you think eggs … do you think romance? You could have made … a rack of lamb, rare and wonderful … at first we’d take our knives and cut off little pieces. Small bits of juicy meat combined with the perfect combination of spices, rosemary and salt and … small bites would turn to large bites and soon we’d have the lamb bones in our hands and we’d be devouring them. After, we’d devour each other.

No, I don’t mean literally … I mean sexually. You’d devour me sexually. I’d devour you sexually.Yes, now that I’m saying it out loud, it does sound strange, but it wouldn’t feel strange. I’d like to be devoured by a man who cooks wonderful lamb.

You look … uncomfortable … Delicious food should be devoured. Great sex should be delicious and impossible not to devour … you can’t help yourself. You feel … almost starved as you first approach each other. You try to start slow but a speed, a … something drives you to go faster and faster to … rip the meat from the bones, and you don’t care if you get covered in juices and flesh because you’re … well, you’re not eating a Quiche.

A Quiche is eaten in tiny, dainty bites. Do you want to take me in tiny, dainty bites? Do you want me to take you in tiny dainty bites? One does not devour a Quiche. And by serving me a Quiche, you are telling me something.

And that’s why, as sweet as this gesture is … I have to tell you. It’s not romantic … it’s the pretense of romantic. It’s two children kissing on the lips and exchanging promise rings. You know … an egg is basically immature chicken. We haven’t hatched, you see. We’ve tried. We’ve gone through the motions. We’ve rubbed the sticks together but there … there is no fire. It really does look good on the plate though.

But let’s face it. Neither you, nor I are interested in what you’ve put on the menu. Ok then. Well …Goodnight.

Posted 31 Jan 2014

Namaste BitchMonologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

Before I started practicing yoga, sis, if I found out you slept with my boyfriend …

I might have not shown up today, for you. And left you without a maid of honor on your wedding day. But yoga teaches faithfulness.

I might have stolen your wedding dress last night and sold it on ebay.But yoga teaches non-stealing.

I might have returned your wedding gift and got myself that (insert-brand) clutch I’ve been eyeing.But yoga teaches non-greed.

I might have told you I know, but I don’t care and you haven’t hurt me.But yoga teaches truthfulness.

I might have said-“I know you banged my boyfriend. Now you’re going to get banged. By my fist in your face.”(Miming punch) “Bang” But yoga teaches non-violence.

Instead, I’m just trying to breath … to hold this incredibly uncomfortable pose and still be here, for you, as your sister, on this sacred day in your life.

Yoga teaches that underneath everything, we are part of the same underlying ultimate essence. And right now, I’ll admit, that essence feels pretty bitchy.

But right now, I bow to that essence, to all of this pain, this agony - because you must feel it too, to do something like this.

(Bowing to her sister)Namaste Bitch.

Posted 20 Jan 2014

New Year's WishMonologues for womenby Gabriel Davis

Here’s how it goes.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - Happy New Year!

You take my face gently in your hands, pull my lips to yours. Then bringing your arms down around me, your hands come to rest softly but firmly on my shoulder blades. You pull me into you. Close.

That’s how it goes, Robert. And its less than one minute to midnight. But that’s how it goes. If you stay here.

Downstairs, they’re all having fun. They won’t miss us. Their champagne will flow without us. Afterwards, their year ahead will march on without us. And we’ll be … together. Just you and I. Because you cared enough to be here with me. Really here with me.Down there with them I can't feel your touch. Your father said if you want to run with the big dogs, you have to get off the porch. But if you want to run with them … you’re going to leave me behind.It’s up to you, Robert. Please. Only a few seconds left. What will the new year bring?

5, 4, 3, 2 …. 1.

Posted January 1st, 2014

Grow Up, HumanityMonologues for teens, young adults or old adults! Dramatic, with light undertones of comedy.Speaker can be male or female. by Gabriel Davis

So you are “all of humanity”? You are all of humanity? All of humanity? You are not what I expected you’d look like. Well … You look kinda like my 14 year old nephew. I’m told I only have two minutes with you. To talk some sense into you. And I appreciate your time. I'm told the opportunity to address you comes but once in a lifetime … No pressure, haha. It’s just … ok, you may not like this … WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?

Really! Seriously! You are incredibly bright and capable. You put a man on the moon, created an international space station, flew a rover to mars! You are on your way to growing up, becoming independent! But you seem distracted to me. My nephew, he’s the same, always distracted. Always playing video games instead of doing his homework. Obsessed with earning "virtual gold" on World of Warcraft. You’ve created these intricate games where you strive to achieve the highest numeric score. Like my nephew, earning the highest possible numbers drives you. Yet the real numbers, the ones that will advance your sciences so you can move out of your “parent’s house” aka the earth ... those numbers you barely look at. Don't you want to be able to live on your own someday? Get your own little place out in the cosmos? That’s how you’re going to survive long term, right? You’re certainly smart enough to do it. But you’re distracted.And you sure are angry a lot. Like my nephew, he's always fighting with his sister, or anticipating a fight with her, or coming up with great ways to one-up her. He loves drama, he loves conflict. You frustrate me, humanity. Because you have all the knowledge to take care of yourself, but you don't apply it. Sure, you have small areas, tiny pockets of health, vitality. But overall, just look at you! You’re mostly underfed, malnourished, physically unfit, under-educated. Those numbers don't lie, buddy.

Right now, your parents' house is well stocked and you can use the resources there to mature. To study and learn those real numbers and make something of yourself. There's enough so you can nourish all of yourself. But not if you keep multiplying like you've been - please keep those hormones in check. Like I tell my nephew, there will be plenty of time for dating when you go off to college. Oh no. I hear my snooze alarm going off. I guess this is it, my two minutes is up. I hope this is all sinking in because ... I’m going to wake up in a second.Bottom line, you may not have the time you think you have. A rock could fall out of the sky. You could catch a bad cold. Or have really bad weather ... bad things can happen. Use every moment. No more distractions, cut out the fighting and the games. Get serious. Pull yourself together. Focus. Prepare to move out of your parent's house. Grow up, Humanity. Please. Grow up.

"Grow Up Humanity" Monologue posted 14 Dec 2013.

Fire the BoysMonologues for teens or young women, comedic with a serious message! by Gabriel Davis

World peace, world peace. Everyone wants world peace. Or everyone pretends to want world peace. But they don’t really want world peace. Because there’s a simple way to get it. Everyone knows it, no one wants to say it. Fire the boys. Fire the boys! There. I said it. The boys have been mostly in charge of the world for a long time now, and look at it. The world is a mess. A mess created by boys. And why are we surprised by this? Go into any single boy’s home or apartment or dorm room. Go into it. Is it tidy? Are the pants crisply folded, the shirts carefully hung, the socks darned? Some? Sure, sure. Some are. But the majority? The majority are a forgotten wasteland of dirty laundry, empty beer cans and old pizza boxes! So what idiot saw the average boy’s room and said, “This looks good! We should put this guy in charge of the entire world! I think he’ll get the place in order!” I can tell you this, it wasn’t a girl. A girl did not make that decision. No, boys have been putting other boys in charge for a long time now. And yeah, we girls get some middle management positions, a few leadership roles here and there. Things are changing. But meanwhile, the boys really are still mainly in charge. And really, if they knew what is good for them, they’d all step down and let some ladies step up right away. And I know, boys, what you’re thinking “What makes you think you’d do better!” And my answer is, wild baboons! Wild baboons have proved that girls can do better. Let me explain. There’s a troupe of wild baboons in Africa, you can Google this, where a tragedy killed off most of the males, leaving all the girl monkeys in charge. And the result was AMAZE-BALLS. The baboons stopped fighting amongst themselves, and spent more time socializing and grooming each other. Making them less mean and more clean! And it was good for the boys! The boy monkeys who used to be all stressed out, worrying about competing with the other boys , learned from the now dominant girl culture how to groom each other. In no other baboon troupe does one male monkey groom another. These secure guy monkey’s do! The girls taught them that! And when new boys come into the troupe, they teach them how to do it too. And they’ve kept this monkey utopia going for generation after generation! And the result is healthier boy monkeys! The scientist who studies them – Dr. Sapolsky – found these monkeys have none of the stress related issues of regular monkeys. Regular monkeys, especially the lower status ones that get picked on all the time, have the same problems we do - high blood pressure, obesity, and impaired brain function from stress. But Sapolksy’s monkey’s don’t, no – they’re thriving like no other troupe. So boys, if you know what’s good for you – you will step down right now and let the girls take over. Not only will it be good for your individual health, it will be good for the entire world!"Fire the Boys" monologue was posted 16 November 2013.

The Cheerios WarMonologues for teens or young men, comedic or dramatic by Gabriel Davis

I put a bowl down, I put Cheerios in that bowl, I pour milk in that bowl. I return the milk to the refrigerator. I return here. Here you are, eating the Cheerios.

Yet there you are, eating my Cheerios. Again. What is this, the third day in a row?

I don't even know where you come from. I turn my back for less than a minute. And there you are. Do you hide under the table, lie in wait? Are you in your bedroom, ear to the door, listening for the rustle of oats pouring into plastic?

I don't want to make a big deal about this. Having said that, this is like an act of war. You are declaring war on my personal breakfast space. And it is uncool. Uncool.

I don't think war is a strong word. I've like established my territory, marked it with my milk and Cheerios. And you're encroaching.

Why are you laughing? Stop that. Stop it. You've got milk coming out of your nose. That's disgusting, dude. No, I don't want it now. I just want to know that tomorrow, when I turn my back on my breakfast, I won't turnaround to find you eating it.

Dude what are you doing. Why are you getting up. Hey, hey, back away. Why are you all up in my grill... Say something. Bob. Bob. Are you just going to stand here? Stop breathing like that. You're breathing in my face.

Are you going to hit me next? You look like you're going to hit me. It's not worth it.

Oh, this is mature. Look, I don't want to escalate this. No, I'm not afraid. I just don't want to get into it with you over a bowl of cereal.

No, I can't let you keep eating it. And no, I'm not going to kiss you to make you stop! Wait, what? Kiss you?

Stop screwing around. What do you mean? Kiss you. You are not in love with me. You're messing with me. You are not in love.

If you were in love, this would be a weird way of showing it. So you're obviously messing with me.

Honestly, yeah, it's a little unexpected for me. I think it might be a little unexpected for your girlfriend. For Sandy, yeah. No, man. No. I had no idea. What signs? But everyone slaps each other on the ass here. I slapped Tony yesterday, Tony slapped Saul, Saul slapped Pete. There's a whole lot of ass slapping. I don't read into it.

There's plenty here for ya. I mean, maybe not me, as your lover but ... This bowl of Cheerios is here at this table for ya. It is. In fact, can I help improve these Cheerios for you, Bob? Maybe cut up some strawberries. Or how about some banana?

Both. Sure, I can do both. You want both? I'll get you both.

Ok, bud. Sure. Hang here. I'm gonna go get you both strawberries and bananas for your cereal. It's going to taste good. Everything is going to be good. Ok, just .. wait here.

Sorry what? Is it ok if you eat my cereal again tomorrow ... um. ..

You know what? You won't have to. I'll make two bowls tomorrow morning. Yeah, of course.

Sure... yeah. We can keep talking. Sure. Every morning. As long as it takes. No worries.

No worries.

"The Cheerios War" monologue was posted 3 November 2013.

Maddie's DadA monologue for men - can be played dramatic or comedicby Gabriel Davis

Don't take Maddie from me, please. Whatever our differences, we will work through them. But don't keep her from her daddy. I am a good dad, I ...

This past weekend, she's on the couch with me, I'm trying to get her to color within the lines in her coloring book and at the same time I've got the TV on, flipping through the channels-

Yes, I know you think I have the TV on too much around her, but - so I'm flipping through and I notice Maddie look up when I get to this one channel. That movie The Ten Commandments is playing, you know the old one with Charlton Heston? It's on the part where he's asking the Pharaoh to free his people and Maddie, she is like mesmerized. So much so, she isn't really coloring within the lines or even within her book, but all over the couch. I try to take the crayon out of her hand, but she pulls it away and in this sing songy voice says - "Let my people go!" Which actually got her off the couch, she ran around with the crayon's saying "Let my people go" a few more times ...

It was so - it made me smile, right? So - so later on, I'm trying to have her use the little potty. Like you wanted yes - yes I bought one last week ... and she's, she's struggling, ya know. I tell her I want her to be a big girl and she ... She says "Daddy, I can't ... I can't." I tell her to just be patient but she looks like she's about to cry and ... and then the first few tears start and that's when it hits me. "Maddie, honey - what if I told you I have a magical way to help you."

The tears pause a moment .. "You do?" She says, looking curiously at me. So I ... start -

(Singing) "Let the poop flow, let the poop flow, let the poop flow ... way down to Egypt land."

There's this tense pause ... she's looking intently at me ...

(Singing) "Let the poop flow, let the poop flow, let the poop flow ... way down to Egypt land."

I keep going like this, she keeps looking intently and then ... all of a sudden I swear, I see this little sparkle in her eye- "Daddy, daddy, I think it's working!" This wave of fatherly love hits me like a Mack truck, along with another verse!

"That's WONDERFUL honey," I say. Her eyes so bright green now, emeralds, shining rays of pure unadulterated joy. There's this impossibly wide grin on her little face. She is successful.

She felt proud. I did that.

So you want to go back into that courtroom, and continue to lie about who I am. Use your family money and high powered lawyers to slaughter me in there...

I'm sorry I .. I know I betrayed your trust. I was ... foolish. I was an ass ... so go ahead, you want to tell them I was an unfit husband. Okay. But I am NOT an unfit father. I love her so much. You know I love her, and I .. I just want that chance to keep being there for her.

Yes, I see the water leaking from the pipe below our kitchen sink. Do you see the gum near where the water is coming out! I don’t know why it didn’t work. I come from a long line of apartment dwellers. When things like this happen we usually call the super.

I know there is no super here, in our house. But why is that? I mean, why are house dwellers, sorry home owners, denied the luxury of a super? Oh, we can’t afford our own super? Well I can’t afford to keep buying all this gum to plug up all these leaks. No, I know there’s just one leak, right now. But I’m talking about our entire future together here, there are bound to be a large number of leaks.

What will be cheaper in the long run? Our own super or trying to acquire an entire bubble gum factory to supply our leak plugging needs for life? Think about that. Oh, you want me to use a tool … like what? A hammer? Because I’ve tried those. They do NOT work as advertised.

I tried fixing a sink once, in college, for my frat. It was a little leak like this one. I banged on the pipe with my hammer, you know, to try to force the leak back in. Guess what, SURPRISE, it leaked MORE. So, ya know, I banged harder on the leak to try to really show it who was boss. "We have a gusher boys!" I said. Then we rolled around in all the water for a while. Some guy went out and bought a slip and slide and … there we were sliding down the hall of our frat house and ...

Yes, we were probably drinking at the time. I acknowledge that banging on a pipe with a hammer may not be what a super would have done. But I also know, growing up, our Super did use a hammer to fix things along with some other widgets.

Yes, widgets. Other types of tools. Yes, I know the actual names for some other tools … like um …. um … ah …

Look, every man is not a handy man. Yesterday, when the priest said do you take this man he did NOT say do you take this handy man.Man does not equal handy.

So what I propose is an alternate to the live-in super or bubble gum factory solutions. How about we just call a, um, regular handy man. Someone we pay to fix this one leak.

Yes, a plumber. Perfect. Let’s call a plumber. Let's call a plumber so we can go on our honeymoon. YES! THANK YOU! I love you, honey.

This "Unhandy Man" monologue was posted October 5, 2013.

Hit and RunDramatic Female MonologueBy Gabriel Davis

Monologist's name is Daisy. This monologue was inspired by F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby." It was written for a young actress auditioning for the role of Daisy in her school play (she got the part!).Daisy is addressing Gatsby a little while after she has been involved in a hit and run accident.

The way she stepped out in front of the car. Like she thought she knew us. You say she's probably fine. But I don't think she's probably fine at all. When things all get to be too exciting and I get dizzy I go a little blind. Don't you think?

I think maybe nothing gets too much for you. I think maybe you can take in everything in the world and be always steady. Long before we met, when I was a very little girl. There was this boy. Son of daddy's valet. My age. And one time I was standing at the doors looking out on the east garden - he ran by and he- he touched me.

"You're it." He said. He had these blue eyes. A little like yours. He laughed and ran off. "Come and get me Daisy." I thought it strange, he knew my name. I didn't know his. I giggled and before my nanny could grab ahold.. I alighted after him.

"I'll get you, I'll get you." I'd never run so fast or so hard. My white dress was billowing all around me like sails on stormy seas. I felt my breath so fast. Crashing in and out in waves. At last I caught up to and caught that little boy. Tackled him to the ground, felt my hands on our lawn, warm from the sun, I ripped a handful of grass, tossed it in his face. And I laughed. He laughed, too...

"You naughty naughty- naughty... boy.". I was still.. on top of him. "Boy, what's your name?" I asked. He opened his mouth to speak. His father ran over before he could... Pulled him from under me. Like a rag doll, his tiny arm twisting impossibly. He hit his little boy so hard and walked me back toward my Nanny who was running toward us.

My mother had come out, which was unheard of. I rarely saw her afternoons until dinner time. She grabbed me and looked so deep into my eyes and said - "My darling dear, my foolish little dear. You mustn't run so fast. You'll get dizzy and hurt yourself. And with such a little boy." I remember fathers valet saying he was sorry over and over to my mother and I wondered what for. And then my mother took me inside and I remember being very happy- because she was having mint juleps and small bites with her girlfriends and I got to join her.

And you know, I didn't think of that little boy again. Not until now. But thinking of that now, I guess I never saw the boy after that. I think he was sent away, maybe.. I don't think I've ever felt so dizzy as that day until tonight.

I'm sorry- I'm not sure why I'm rambling on like this my love- except perhaps it's from the shock. My mind is racing with so many thoughts, I... Perhaps for tonight, you should take me home. I think I need to just lay down, in my own bed, until things stop spinning.. You needn't worry. My husband has always been gentle with me. He'll leave me to my rest. I promise you, no no he won't lay a hand on me. . I promise you, he won't excite me further. He'll let me sleep.

Yes darling - please, please just take me home. Tomorrow when everything is fresh- you and me and our mad ride this evening...it will all feel like a dream, and everything will return to normal...everything will be just as it was...in the light of day...don't you think? Now take me home, dear one. I'm ready to go home.

Hit and Run Monologue was posted on 20 Sept 2013.

The Yoga FartComedic Female Monologueby Gabriel Davis

I farted in Yoga class. It was loud. And I didn't die. My heart started pounding but it did not explode. I thought I would be devastated but I was not. Instead something unexpected happened. I laughed. At first a little giggle and then a full blown belly laugh. In fact, I laughed so hard that I farted again. And again, and again. Embarrassing, no? No. No.

I could feel people staring but I didn't care. I thought I would care. Feel my palms grow clammy, my chest tighten. No. I felt a lightness, wonder, awe. Who knew I had so much air inside me. My body had deflated but my spirit had inflated! I waited for the self loathing to come. But there was only... Stillness. Silence. Then in that silence, a little voice. I love you. Your body is amazing.

I realized, this was why I'd come to yoga in the first place. No, not to fart publicly. To fart publicly and survive it. I know, it's unladylike. But in the depth of this indignity, I had found my greatest strength. Here I was looking my fear in the face And believe me, I had feared this moment. I had played it out in my mind. And it always ended with all the ladies around me pulling hidden rocks out of their lululemon attire and stoning me mercilessly. But not much happened. Here i was staring fear in the face and realizing...it was a bunch of hot air. And i could release it!

I breathed in deep, so deep another loud exclamation of my new found freedom erupted from my behind. "Excuse me," the woman behind me said. "But could you step outside for a moment. Some of us are trying to practice yoga..." This should have destroyed me. It should have sent me whimpering out of the room. But I felt my calm breath, heard myself say: "Excuse me,but I am practicing my fartnassanas thank you very much."

Then something amazing happened. A little noise erupted from another corner of the room. A few other people giggled, then laughed, and then more noises erupted. And it was beautiful. A symphony of fartnassanas. I was free, they were free. And I realized in that moment...I was free of you, too. You can't hurt me anymore.

Yoga Fart Monologue was posted on 6 Sept 2013

I Ate The Divorce PapersComedic female monologue from the play Goodbye Charlesby Gabriel Davis

(Monologist stands in front of her soon to be x-husband)I ate them. That’s right. I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good...goooood. You probably want me to get serious about our divorce. The thing is you always called our marriage a joke. So let’s use logic here: If A we never had a serious marriage then B we can’t have a serious divorce. No. We can’t. The whole thing’s a farce, Charles – a farce that tastes good with ketchup.(beat)I mean, wasn’t it last week, your dad asked you the reason you walked down that aisle with me, and you said “for the exercise.” Ha, ha. That’s funny. You’re a funny guy, Charles. I’m laughing, not a crying. Ha, ha. I’m laughing because you’re about to give up on a woman who is infinitely lovable.(beat)For instance: Paul. He has loved me since the eighth grade. Sure, he’s a little creepy, but he reeeeally loves me. He’s made one hundred twenty seven passes at me, proposed forty seven times, and sent me over two hundred original love sonnets. He sees something in me, Charles. And he writes it down, in metered verse!(beat)And that’s not something you just find everyday. Someone who really loves everything about who you are as a person. Paul may be insane, but I value his feelings for me.(beat)I would never ask him to sign his name to a piece of paper promising to just turn off his feelings for me forever. But that’s what you’re asking me to do, for you. To sign away my right to...to that sweet voice Charles, those baby brown eyes, the way you hands feel through my hair before bed...(beat)Those aren’t things I want to lose. In fact, I won’t lose them. I won’t lose you. I’ll woo you. I’ve written you a sonnet. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day. Thou art more lovely and more temperate, rough winds do shake the darling buds of may and...” I’m not crying. I’m laughing. It’s all a big joke. It’s very funny, Charles. I keep waiting for you to say “April Fools.” Then I’ll rush into your arms and... But you’re not going to, are you? No. Of course not. It’s not April.(beat)I, I didn’t really write that sonnet, you know. Paul did. I think it’s good.(beat)You see, the truth...the truth is, Charles, I ate the divorce papers, I ate them, because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you.

Its Terrible Being NiceComedic female monologue from the play Goodbye Charlesby Gabriel Davis

Don’t do it! Don’t open that little box one more crack! Don’t ask me to marry you. Shh, shh, shh. Don’t say another word. Just listen.

I can’t let you do this to me. I mean, before I met you I used be such a bitch. I mean, serously, everyone at work thought I was a huge bitch. No one actually liked me. Those people I introduced to you as my friends. They're not my friends. They're scared of me. Or they were...before I met you.

Before you, I never said please or thank you at restaurants. I never smiled or laughed at anyone's jokes but mine. I never used to tip more than 10%. I was quick with insults. I always had a cruel word. I was cold, cross, crass, falsely compassionate.

But since being with you, I’ve begun to feel all...warm inside. Fuzzy. I find myself wanting to stroll in the park and whistle!

I have these thoughts, these urges to donate to charities and help out in soup kitchens, and hug people. Since being with you, I’ve given nearly ten dollars to homeless men, helped three old ladies cross the street, and I bought one of my so called "friends" a present at full price. And it was something I knew she'd like.

Don’t you see? Don’t you see you’ve made me NICE!? And what really scares me is that you’ll open that box and ask me to marry you, and I’ll...I’ll just nicely say “yes,” and then I’ll be nice for life.

I’ll be singing “cumbaya” for the rest of my days. I’ll give back to the community, to the Salvation Army, to The MAKE A WISH FOUNDATION! And I'll do it annonymously.

And then one day, years from now, I’ll wake up and I’ll have the horrible realization that I lived a good life—that I contributed.

Please, for the love of God, put that box away. I mean, the planet already has millions of nice people. It doesn’t need me too. I am a bitch! And I want to stay that way! Please, stop, don’t—I’m asking you – No, I’m begging you – I’m getting down on my knees.

(Lacey enters a bare stage and addresses audience)My father was a wonderful man who waited on me hand and foot when I was a child. Mother used to jokingly call him “the slave.” When I grew up, I expected to find a husband as loving and selfless as my father. Instead I found Frank.(beat)I would always give Frank thirty minute back rubs, which he always asked for. He’d never give me back rubs unless I begged, and then only for thirty seconds. One time, I broke both my arms and they were put in casts. Despite this I continued with Frank’s back rubs. The doctor warned me that if I continued using the muscles in my arms that way, I would permanently damage them and have unbearable shooting pains for the rest of my life. I told Frank what the doctor said, and Frank told me I was exaggerating because I was lazy and didn’t care about how his back felt.(beat)One day shortly after that, after a long time rubbing his back, my own was sore. And so I said “Your turn, and I want a half an hour because I always give you a half an hour, - what’s fair is fair.” And Frank said “I thought you gave me back rubs because you love me not because you expected something in return?” And I explained that I love him, but I also wanted something since I give so much. Then he told me I was just being selfish, and I needed to start trying to be a truly selfless person.(beat)And so I tried to be selfless for awhile, but the shooting pains in my arms, which he also refused to massage, were so unbearable that finally I figured it would just be easier to kill Frank than continue trying to be selfless. And I know I should have just left, or something, but the apartment was so nice and why should I be the one to give it up? I’m the one who found it in the first place. And I suppose even then, there were other ways to handle things, but I couldn’t think of any at the time. Killing him was the best I could come up with.(beat)The real problem with me and Frank was, I think, my inability to be assertive. To assert myself. I mean, had I just asserted my right to back rubs, and to my arms, and to my apartment which I found, then maybe Frank would have respected my needs and I wouldn’t have felt that killing him was the only option available to me.(beat)I think I fluctuate between being too passive and too aggressive when what I really need is to find some middle ground between the two.

Switching SidesComedic female monologueBy Gabriel Davis

(Monologist addresses her friend, Marci)

(Speaks quickly)Listen, Marci…I’m -I have to- I know I’ve been a bitch to you since I found out about your -about- I think it’s okay -My minds changed -being gay's okay -in fact your choice is…Well… this is all Matt’s fault.I had this dream last night.This awful horrible…a vision, it was more of a vision -at least that’s what I thought -last night.I woke up in a cold sweat thinking about Matt.I knew I had to break it off.Cause what he wanted -I couldn’t give -I can’t be what he wants.I can’t.

He wants me to cut my hair -to lose ten pounds.Last night, we’re making love -first off, he calls it “rumping” -we’re -after we’re through -he’s always so sweet after- playing with my -running his hand down my stomach.But last night he grabs a love handle and says “that’s super meaty”.Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?!I mean that’s a hint, right?So like I didn’t know how to take that kind of -I mean who says that, “super meaty” -I’m a woman, not some Dinty More Beef Stew.

I fall asleep, don’t say anything to him about it, just smile and pass out -what a wuss, right? So I have this messed up dream -I’m in a fashion show, right -Matt is a talent scout, but he’s not my boyfriend in the dream.And he looks at me and says “Oh yeah girl you’ve got real potential.”All these guys in white coats strap me to a chair and suck like thirty pounds of fat out of me through some tubes, and these little umpa lumpas are spreading it on bread, and Santa Claus is there taking it to little chil- anyway my boyfriend is like sculpting me.Giving all these orders, right, like “lose the upper body, enlarge the breasts, tighten up and round out the ass, fill out the legs, lose the face.”

So there I am.I get out of the chair and look at myself in the mirror.I’m just a pair of legs, an ass, and two humungus breasts.My boyfriend looks at me and says “perfect, she looks super meaty” and I’m really confused, I mean genuinely confused, I mean crap, where’s my head, and I start screaming “where’s my head” “what did you do with my head” “HAS ANYONE SEEN MY GODAMNED HEAD!” And I wake up screaming“Head!” so loud that Matt thinks I’m asking him a question and he says “Sure, I’m always down for some late night head.”I mean, what is that, right?And while I’m down there he says “hey baby, not even Prez Bill C. had it as good as me…although that hoe coulda lost a few pounds”, I mean what is that shit?

And later when I ask him if he thinks, you know, if I’m beautiful, he says; “why don’t you cut your hair like that chick Kate Moss, I bet you’d look real sexy.”I mean, men get their hands on Cosmo and they think they’re Versache.So maybe you can understand why I think men are pigs.Cause I mean who says that shit!None of my friends of the non-male persuasion would say that word, “Super Meaty” -what am I a hot dog.

So don’t be so shocked Marci - I know it’s been a long time in the coming -I know you thought I was doomed to- but I’m not -don’t you see -that frickin' testosterone douchebag pig -no, that’s not fair -it’s just some guys- that’s how they’re-But I’m glad I figured it out.All right, I mean if it wasn’t for him - I really feel freer more alive than I’ve ever -really, really, I’m not shitting you -I mean open the door, I’m coming out -Forget men cause from now on the only thing I’m “rumping” -NO- making love to -is, is , is….

all right I can say it -don’t wuss out now-

—Marci, I want to be your lover.

The Most Frightening Wonderful ThingComedic male monologue from the play Goodbye CharlesBy Gabriel Davis

(Monologuist enters a restaurant. He is wearing climbing gear - looks like he came directly from a mountain. The woman he is speaking to, Barbara, is in the middle of a date)I’m sorry to interrupt your date, Barbara. (to Date) Hi buddy, how’s your date with my girlfriend going so far? Good? (In response to Barbara) I asked Trish. She told me you were here. (to Date) You don’t mind if I sit down, do you? Thanks. (to Barb) Listen, honey...I can explain my absence for the last three months, really. I can. See. You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever known. And that can be a little...scary. Look at this guy, he looks petrified. You know how three months ago, I kinda ran out on you at dinner? Of course you do. I wasn’t being rude, I was being scared shitless. See, I wanted to, kinda tell you something extremely important. But I choked. Big time.(beat)I went home and, I cried, I wept uncontrollably, Barbara. Now that’s not like me, I’m not a weeper. But there I am, reduced to whimpers, because I don’t have the guts to tell you that I want you to ... so I turn on the TV, it happens there’s this documentary about these guys who climbed mount Everest. (to Date) Oh, you’ve seen it, buddy? (Back to Barb) So, I start thinking how brave these guys are, and why can’t I be more like them.(beat)I mean those mountain men have stared death in the face, no way they would have been so anxious to ask if you ... See, then it occurred to me: I should climb Everest. If I climb Everest, little things like this, they’ll be a cake walk. I know, I shoulda told you. But I just...went.(beat)The next thing I know, I’m trapped in a nylon tent at 25,000 ft. with a mountaineer named Gus. Winds over 100 mph are tossing grapefruit sized rocks and sheets of ice bigger than manhole covers though the air. All I can think about is you. I keep rehearsing this moment in my head, over and over...(beat)Every hour, Gus or I have to bundle up in our summit gear, crawl from the tent and shovel the snow into the screaming wind. If we don’t, the snow will bury us, seal off the last bit of fresh air and slowly asphyxiate us. I keep thinking of this moment, with you. And in my head, this moment, it’s not getting any easier. Somehow Gus and I manage to survive. Four days and the storm passes. We continue to the summit. The highest point on earth.(beat)At the top, it’s breathtaking. You can see what seems endlessly in every direction, and there’s this sense of being a God. I even made Gus call me Zeus. Then, staring out over my kingdom, I had this incredible, life altering revelation: There is nothing on earth more frightening, than a beautiful woman.(beat)I have looked death in the face Barb. Just like those guys in the documentary. And I have to say. Looking you in the face. Asking you what I’m about to... It’s still harder. Barb, Barbara my dear, my love. (takes a breath in) Here we go.(beat)Will you marry me?

Killing ChuckComedic male monologueby Gabriel Davis

I just fuckin’ killed Chuck. I think. I mean, he’s just laying out there. He's not moving. I don't think he's breathing.

I mean, there I was just up on the roof with Marissa – talking, laughing, having a great time. I tell her she reminds me of Sandra Bullock. I tell her I loved “Hope Floats.” Who knew those would be the magic words? Next thing I know her clothes are off and we’re loosening roof shingles like there’s no tomorrow. And then there’s biting and kissing and touching and suddenly someone starts beating on me, I mean, just pounding on me and growling. Yeah, growling. And I look up and there’s Chuck. And I’m like, “What’s the problem?” and he says “The problem is, dude, you’re fucking my girlfriend.”

So I look at Marissa and I’m like “You’re someone’s girlfriend?” And she says “No.” Then it comes out Chuck just wishes she’s his girlfriend but actually she’s his cousin or something, so he’s got these feelings of guilt about wanting her...and then he starts crying.

So that ruined the mood. Marissa puts her clothes on, and she goes back down through the window, back into the party. And I’m left with Chuck. Blubbering, whining, crying Chuck.

And he starts in on how he’s just this total fuck up and maybe he should just throw himself off the roof. And for a split second I’m thinking “YES! Throw yourself off the roof! Do it!” But I don’t say that. I say I “You’re gonna get a girl, buddy, just maybe not your cousin, huh?” And then I give him a friendly pat on the back. A nice manly slap on the back. And he looked heavy, I mean, who knew he’d go flying.

The 26 Year Old Bar Mitzvah BoyComedic male monologue from the play Goodbye Charlesby Gabriel Davis

No, no. I’m not here to propose marriage to you again. You said no and I can respect that decision. And I'm still fine with us seeing other people like you suggested. Not here to like, win you back. It's totally cool.

But I've been thinking a lot about what you said that night. That I'm not ready, that I need to grow up, that I'm not a man, and you want a man. I've been thinking about it and I wanted you to know, I think I figured out how to fix that, uh, issue.

My bar-mitzvah - my transformation from boy to man at the age of 13. I don't think I got it right. I remember stuttering when I read the Shama. And my chanting, especially during the Haftorah, as I recall my bubbie telling me, it was a little off-key. So I'm thinking, maybe, due to that, I didn't enter manhood properly. Or perhaps I missed the entrance altogether. Or perhaps God locked the entrance, because he couldn't understand the torah portion through my heavy lisp.

Anyway, since then I've really grown up a lot. I mean, according to you, not into a real man, but... I mean, I don't stutter, I don't lisp, granted I still sing off-key, but...and then it hit me. This is genius. Brace yourself. Seriously, hold onto the door frame or something: What if I got bar mitzvahed again? What if I got re-bar mitzvahed? I could nail it this time. Just knock that bar-mitzvah out of the synagogue.

So I’ve been studying Hebrew. Went to a Rabbi these last six weeks. Been training intensely. I mean, Karate Kid training. Not just reading the Torah, but wax-on wax-off stuff like going to Saturday services, making Gefilte fish from scratch, learning to drive a hard bargain at the grocery. I even went back to Hebrew school and stood up to the current bully there. Granted the kid was like 4'11'', but my heart was still pounding like crazy.

And after all that, I can feel it, I'm ready. Ready for man-land. Ready to pay a mortgage and take out a 401k and sell insurance or cars or be a banker or something. And like, father some kids. I am charged. I am pumped. And tomorrow is my big day. Tomorrow, thirteen years after my first bar-mitzvah I am going to do it again – and it is going to rock!

Tomorrow before your eyes and my families' - may Bubbie rest in piece - I will become a man. I will step up on that bema and you will WITNESS my TRANSFORMATION!

So, uh, anyhoo...that’s why I’m here. Just wanted to, uh, hand deliver this invitation to my bar-mitzvah. We're going to do a nice little reception after, we'll have a DJ, should be dancing part, maybe they'll play our song, or not, and uh no need to bring a gift, I know its on short notice. And, um...if you could just fill out this little card – chicken or fish. Thanks for not slamming the door like last time. (door slams) Oh. Okay. So I'll see you tomorrow?

The Fact CheckerComedic male monologue from the play Goodbye Charlesby Gabriel Davis

I’m not the kind of guy who spends hundreds on a last minute flight back to New York, tears across town, then runs up six flights of stairs and knocks on my best friend’s girlfriend’s door in order to run off and elope with her based on one crazy, thoughtless, inexplicably romantic night.

So what am I doing here, Audrey? I’m not passionate. I’m a fact checker for Christ’s sake. And the fact of me – being here – doesn’t check out. It’s nuts! Soul-mates? I don’t believe in them. Never have. So how can I be yours? The fact is, you hardly know me! And I hardly know you!

Now, your boyfriend, I’ve known since kindergarten. Am I really willing to throw all those years of friendship away based on...what? Some feeling? Some intense, aching, gnawing, burning, torturing feeling that’s telling me I must be with you or I’ll die a slow and horrible death as my heart slowly breaks into a thousand pieces? No!

I mean, this is the kind of thing that only happens in the movies – and we’re not in the movies. We’re on McDougal Street, two blocks south of Bleecker – that’s where we are. That is an indisputable geographical fact. A solid, rational, clear, black and white fact. And all the facts are pointing to one thing: we can’t do this. All the facts say I shouldn’t be here.

Because the fact is you are in a relationship. Because the fact is we just met yesterday. Because the fact is I’m not the kind of guy who falls in love. That’s a fact. A cold hard fact. And facts are supposed to be true.

But the problem is....see...the problem is...despite every fact I can muster, there’s something that still doesn’t check out. Because the truth is despite all facts to the contrary...I still love you madly. And it just defies all reason. All morality. All sense. But I do. I love you madly. And it’s not like me. And I don’t want to. But I can’t help it.

Honey, I'm a LeprechaunComedic male monologue from the play Goodbye Charlesby Gabriel Davis

Why can't you accept I'm a leprechaun?

It's like you're embarrassed. When we're out and I mention to people that I've recently transformed into a leprechaun, you always laugh lightly then veer the conversation to another topic. I don't want them to think I'm crazy either, but I can't lie about who I am.

It is who I am.

Look at the facts. There's a salary freeze but I got a raise. The market took a beating, but my stocks are up. Housing values are in the toilet, just not our house.

No people aren't lucky like that.

How do you explain that rainbow in our back yard? Rainbows do not linger for a week in low humidity.

I mean I get this isn't what you bargained for when you said "I do" But people change. Not usually into leprechauns but - and granted the priest said "do you take this man..." not "do you take this leprechaun..."

But this can't come as a total surprise. When you went on that special K diet and I went on that lucky charms diet...that should have tipped you off...

Or when I started to develop five o'clock shadows at 10 am. Honey this kind of aggressive beard growth is not natural...for humans. And I get you don't like it, how the stubble chaffes, and that's why I'm shaving every hour practically, for you.

But, cmon, you have to accept this. We have to get it out in the open so we can work through it, together. This isn't easy for me either, I denied it at first too.

You know when I couldn't deny it anymore?

That day after my physical, when they found the sudden and medically puzzling height loss. I know the doctor explained it away as unusually drastic spinal compression, but I saw the look on your face, on his. And me, my stomach dropped out.

Remember how you comforted me. Said I didn't really seem much shorter. Still the same strapping man you married. But you towered over me as you said it. I felt so scared. Remember I couldn't sleep...came to bed late...

But then, that night, when I came to bed, you were already out. I gave you a little peck and said goodnight - you said, and you had that tone, half asleep, you said- I love you, little fella.

Little fella. There it was the truth. It hurt. But less so because you were there. Snoring a little. Beside me. And you reached out and took my hand the way you always do. Because some things haven't changed.

I know it's scary.

But please, just accept it, even if it makes us a little weirder as a couple, please say it. Say - say honey I accept that you are a leprechaun. And then we can get on with the rest of our lives. What do say?

Conjugal ConnectionsComedic female monologueBy Gabriel Davis

(A woman stands at her doorway, facing her x-husband, Charles)One moment, Charles.(Yelling at her next door neighbor, Jerry, who is a few hundred feet away, at the edge of her property line)KEEP THE LAWNMOWER ON YOUR SIDE OF THE LAWN!(to Charles)So, if I understand this correctly...you’re saying you want me back....hold on.(to Jerry in distance)No, you’re not, Jerry. The gnomes mark my property line, and you have clearly crossed the gnomes! (to Charles)I’ve dreamt of this moment. You at my door, begging to have me back. (to Jerry in distance)Yes. They’re new. I put them there to keep you on your side!(to Charles)Ever since you left, he insists on mowing across the property line. (to Jerry)NO, THANK YOU JERRY – REALLY - I’M FINE! THANK YOU!(to Charles)He keeps doing that. Offering to mow it for me. Like I’m helpless without you. But when I dream of this moment, you’re the helpless one. You stand there, hoping to hear me say I still love you. Instead I tear out your heart. I tell you I love Jerry. Then I allow you to ravage me, right here on the welcome mat for old times sake.

Not that I would want that.

Because after you left, it took me a long time, Charles....I tried to move on, as you clearly had....went on all those dating websites. Found some suitable suitors, and quickly, too, mind you. They all terrified me. All I could see was you. Every guy was you Charles. Then one day, I surfed right past yoohoo personals to this other site....a site for women seeking love from men behind bars...ConjugalConnections.com. Conjugal Connections, where you can “Love a man who’ll never get away.” Conjugal Connections. Maximum love, maximum security! Conjugal Connections! Make a love connection before the lethal injection! I thought – now this is a dating site I can connect to.

I mean although these men were clearly dangerous, perhaps even psychotic felons....they scared me far less than free men. Free men like you who had the luxury to play fast and loose with my heart.... There I was, emailing these guys on ConjugalConnections.com and for the first time since you left, I felt safe.

I got very close to this one guy on there, Charles. Writing back and forth. He claimed he was innocent. Framed for murder one. I mean, I guess that’s probably what they all say, but I felt his pain. I mean, that’s how I felt, too. Unjustly accused...by you....for these so called crimes of the heart I wasn’t sure I’d actually committed....for things I was fairly certain you’d completely fabricated to ease your own conscience at walking away....

I got to the point, Charles, where I was ready to meet him in person. We talked about devoting the rest of his life to me. Walk him down the aisle, then give him one final reward, before one very final penalty.

I stood at the security gates, Charles. Ready to go in. To give myself to this man. And it was at that moment I realized how deeply you’d scarred me, Charles.

Take you back (laughs).

There is only one way, actually. Kill Jerry.

If he’s dead, you’re in for life. An iron clad guarantee that you will never, ever, ever rip my heart out again.

But you can’t give me that, can you? Not really.

Because you may be a murderer of hearts. But not people.

And that’s why I can never trust or forgive you.

Goodbye, Charles.

The Cheese RobberComedic male monologue from the play Goodbye Charlesby Gabriel Davis

Keep your hands above the counter where I can see them. No one is going to die if you just keep calm and recommend superb cheeses.

Oh thank you. I love Camembert!

You know, I havent always been like this. Desperate. Knocking over cheese shops to get a quick fix.

I used to have a life. A wife. Like me shared my passion. Every morning we would devour the triple brie on our nightstand, make love, and she would sing this little song "aye, aye, aye, aye, I love new cheeses."

And oh did we have new cheeses. Smokey vintage Goudas in amber tones firm and flaky, silky drunken goat in striking violet tones decadent and creamy, the most pungent of epoisses washed in apple brandy and aged to nutty, meaty perfection.

But then our fortunes took a turn for the worse. We couldn't afford anything anymore. We hit rock bottom. One night, while eating a cracker barrel cheddar, there was the sound of whimpering. We both looked up in surprise. It was both of us, we had both begun to wimper without realizing it. As time wore on the cracker barrel devolved into velveeta and the whimpers into sobs. And I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard her sing her little song....

Yes, all of the English Cheshire.

I begged her to sing. She started "aye aye aye...". Her voice cracked. She didn't have the heart to continue.

I tried to cheer her up, but all I could offer was kraft singles.... She grew listless, lying in bed all day staring at the ceiling.

One day on my way to pick up food stamps I passed this wonderful cheese shop. I stared through the glass my eyes bouncing like desperate pinballs between a Roquefort, lindburger, and a taleggio...writer Clifton Fadiman's words came to me "cheese is milk's leap toward immortality."

As if in a dream, I walked quickly into the shop, my hand in my coat like this....back then I didn't actually have a subcompact Glock in my pocket, I assure you I do now...

I scared the heck out of the owner, and I came home with a board from heaven - Gorau Glas, Bitto, and Moose cheese. It was amazing, like Robert Deniro in awakenings, she came out of her stupor. She ate we smiled we laughed. I asked her to sing.

She started, aye..... Stopped too weak to go on.The next day another cheese shop, another aye... Aye, aye...Every day another shop another blissful board another aye until she was able to sing aye aye aye aye, I Lu...Lu....Lu....

We had hit a block at the word love. But I knew with enough high end cheese we could push through it... And I tell you sir, I feel that I am getting close - I am 27 cheese shops into this thing - and I am close to the mother-wedge that will set her free.

It will be sublime. Her voice strong and clear will ring out and I will rejoice as I hear her sing our song once more.

"Aye, aye, aye, aye, I love new cheeses."

Now put the rest of that Stinking Bishop in the bag and this will all be over.

Turkey DayComedic female monologueBy Gabriel DavisI’ll be out in a minute. No, in a minute. Fine, come in. Close the door. You want to know why I’m “hiding” in here? Because out there your mother’s all “Happy Turkey Day, Sally!” and “We’re so pleased you decided to host this year” and “You’re making such a lovely home for our son” and finally “Oh, doesn’t she look pretty in that dress I bought her, dear?” to which your father replies “Mmm-hmm, sweeter than pumpkin pie.”I wanted to reply “I’m so glad that despite the eight mergers I helped broker between sustainable energy companies for work, it’s the smell of turkey in the oven and the way I wear a Laura Ashley dress that proves I’m worth my salt.”Instead I say “Thanks – let me check on the turkey.”Did you know your mother called me last month? Asked me to do this for you. Said you complained about last year to her. Said you didn’t have the heart to tell me that eating Tofurky with my girlfriends while watching back-to-back screenings of Dances with Wolves and Last of the Mohicans wasn’t really your thing.I thought you liked my anti-establishment thanksgiving “thing” as much as I did. I thought you agreed that the genocide and subjugation of an indigenous people by a stronger invading culture was not cause for annual celebration. And maybe your mother had just heard what she wanted to hear, or taken something you’d said out of context.So I went to you and I asked “What would you think about having a more traditional thanksgiving this year with your parents?”To which you replied “Sure, that’d be nice.” I thought you’d say “But honey, aren’t you opposed to cooking and eating animals when there are perfectly good plant foods we can enjoy?” But no, you were strangely uninquisitive, just “Sure, that’d be nice.” Like my sudden transformation from animal rights advocate into Stepford wife turkey killer was perfectly normal. And maybe I should have just freaked out at that point and let you know how upset I was. I don’t know, I was in shock. So I just said “Well, but maybe not. We don’t want to be like the rest of America, contributing to the November Turkey Genocide.” I joked “We couldn’t live with the guilt.”And you said: “Well its only one month out of the year, and besides the president pardons a turkey to make up for it.” I decided to learn about the pardoned turkey’s happy retirement to soothe myself. In the process I uncovered urban legend keepers who tell of a wealthy “benefactor” who donates millions each year to the farm where the pardoned turkey goes. In exchange, the pardoned turkey is transferred to his estate. And then, according to black-market-turkey.com, the benefactor eats our national symbol for mercy and kindness.So most likely, the story of the pardoned turkey is a fairy tale we sell the masses to alleviate their collective guilt, when in actuality some rich bastard is stealing that turkey’s retirement every year!All this month, I kept hoping any moment you’d grant me a reprieve, let me off the hook. Tell me it wasn’t right for me to make this sacrifice. That it was okay if I wanted to spend the holiday in a sweat lodge saying penance. But instead you stood idly by as I cooked away my identity so your family could have “a nice dinner.”No, I guess there really are no pardons for turkey’s tonight, John. I’m a real turkey for going along with all of this. And you’re a real turkey for letting me.Now go back out there, please. I told you. I need a minute.